this very sun

as the light comes down over the front of the house, falling gently upon the clothesline, i sit in an old, tattered rocking chair, drinking sangria. the light squeezes in through the dense trees, and lays itself strongly onto the prayer flags, which have turned color by the hand of this very sun. keri sits in another green chair only feet away, writing by hand as i type. i wonder, would the world be a quieter place without all of the computers. the clicking and humming. today in the woods, more dragonflies. the irradescent blue ones with the black fabric wings. skirting the lake, and laying belly to water-top. i saw the endless mosquitos and the deerflies, a thing i am glad to have known. it is strange to read a novel from one of your favorites, {jim harrison} and have no experience with the bugs they write of.

the ice in my glass clanks. the cat purrs on the porch. flies buzz the compost bin.

a few nights ago, i sat at the same table as keri and drew the same polaroid camera. is it just my hands that cannot make it look the way my eyes see it, or do i see it differently? i believe there is no answer to this question, for if art were not entirely subjective, i suppose it would be rather dull.

on another note, for those of you following the tour de france, this site is my favorite...have a look.

sangria to mouth. swallow. the cars rush the highway, off in the distance. the tree leaves, swish together. cricket legs. dogs. small ones. yapping.

Posted by jeff pitcher at July 8, 2005 05:17 PM

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