Friday, August 15, 2008
FROM MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL
AUGUST 16, 2002
Blue sky again, night broken by the new day's bright fierceness. Yellow sun on a yellow garage door across the street, blue breeze on the blue water of the pond. Everything wishes to be what it is. If I were to run away, I'd run to where I am.
Heavy dew on the windshield of the car. There may have been some smattering of rain during the night. Earlier, the street was damp. You cannot watch the world all the time - you always know only part of the story.
South of where the hawk tree used to be, a big pot-bellied red-tail atop a power pole, its face to the sun. The sun soaks the hawk, soaks everything. I can't let go of the image.
AUGUST 16, 2002
Blue sky again, night broken by the new day's bright fierceness. Yellow sun on a yellow garage door across the street, blue breeze on the blue water of the pond. Everything wishes to be what it is. If I were to run away, I'd run to where I am.
Heavy dew on the windshield of the car. There may have been some smattering of rain during the night. Earlier, the street was damp. You cannot watch the world all the time - you always know only part of the story.
South of where the hawk tree used to be, a big pot-bellied red-tail atop a power pole, its face to the sun. The sun soaks the hawk, soaks everything. I can't let go of the image.
