of Fondness

January 11, 2011

Discovering trees, in the forest.

It’s the sound of wood burning, or the smell of it. Desert sand after a transient rain. It’s crisp cold air, driving with the windows down but the heat on. It’s most Women and a few Men. It’s my bed and her in it.

Very early mornings and mid-day napping. It’s likely the roar of ocean surf or Surf detergent. It’s also line dried 501′s, it’s her wearing them. Maybe Apple products, most photography, Secrets kept and secrets revealed. It’s the crack of pool balls.

Bunkbeds and it’s story tellers. Falling asleep last and waking up first. Black coffee and it’s companion, a cigarette. Perhaps it’s resounding vocal harmony or the harmony of spirit. It’s certainly meatloaf and mashy tay tay’s. It’s been fresh two lane blacktop, sharp curves, her curves. It’s abandoned buildings, ruins and the history they suggest. Packages in plain brown wrappers, tied with plain white string, postcards, the cello.

It’s still my Mom and yes, hers. It’s always Fall and the leaves and colours that reveal its coming. It’s been lightning and thunder, oaths and the written word. My first name and hopefully my last. The past and the present. It has been missing her.

It’s Life. Mine and yours.