Following false leads down the side streets to identity

Though it would hit 85 in Seattle (the last time for a year) I was sickly, pale and soft, an analogy to a piece of fruit that’s gone bad from the insides. I got off the phone with KLM to change my flight for a third time, now Oslo to Stuttgart, picked up my car at the Honda dealership, wore the brakes down to “0,” wore a groove in the wheel so the rotors failed and it wasn’t safe to drive and wasn’t cheap to replace, but I put on Steve Miller for the car ride home and with the windows down and his clean, bright guitars it felt like summer again. The trees were lit up in red, lit up in gold: and outside on the lawn chair in the dried grass I burned myself in the sun with the dog on her side like roadkill — and sat there feeling smug about my job, feeling wanted, feeling wary, for a time.

Orion’s belt in the window in the dark, in the morning, getting up.

And the ghost-like hump of Mt. Rainier like the back of a whale in the distance.

The moon does the same, it needs no words to be known.

But I needed pressure to write: the geysers we saw in Yellowstone, how they come every couple hours, every couple weeks. And all of us in a crescent around the amphitheater waiting for Old Faithful, the bubbling, spitting…wondering, is that it?

I liked the lesser geysers around the edges that spat there, mumbled…the crow that clicked from the top of a dead tree, how it seemed to call just for me…

They click and call, beckon from the shadows “come,” and we follow.

And at night I went outside but it felt funny with so much yard, like it was the first time I set foot out there: the sky went the color of an abalone shell from light blue to pink, to gold, to silver: and I went inside to write but when I came out again it was dark, vague with stars, bats…all those living without eyes who see, through their senses…mine were flattened, though they glowed in dim coals in the music of old cassettes…maybe I could stir them, start something, just by pushing Play.

 

 

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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26 Responses to Following false leads down the side streets to identity

  1. ksbeth says:

    love your ‘fruit’ analogy

    Like

  2. I did the same thing to my poor car. I used to turn the radio up extra loud so I couldn’t hear the brakes grind into the drums when I stopped.

    Thx for the LOTR link. I was an usher in a movie theater when that Bakshi mess came out. [Yup, I’m that old.] I saw it countless times. Great cinema it most definitely was NOT.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Tish Farrell says:

    ‘I burned myself in the sun with the dog on her side like roadkill’ – nicely conjured, Bill.

    Liked by 2 people

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Hi Tish and thank you! Happy fall to you, here’s to the hollows and weeping sunflower heads, and gathering frost…

      Liked by 1 person

      • Tish Farrell says:

        Many thanks for your good wishes. And Happy Fall to you and yours. Am actually just now feeling a bit cross, fall-wise, as just back to windy gloom from Greece where it was warm and golden and the pomegranates were just ripening, the olives fattening, and it was definitely not frosty. Though, since you mention it, some big frost we could with – to freeze the pants off the multitude of molluscs presently afflicting my lingering crops. I have also come home to the hugest weeping sunflower head. Most go and take its pic before it falls on its face 🙂

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      • pinklightsabre says:

        Ah, well then to freeze those mollusk bastards, I wish that for you: gives a good glint to things and stops the buggers dead in their tracks…welcome home from Greece. Catch that sunflower before it crashes…

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I enjoyed this snack size bite, Bill.

    Bin wondering meself about writing momentum. I get stuck in the (record) groove of music scribbling; enjoying it but somehow guilty about not working harder, differently, something.

    Now, where’s that Kraftwerk box…

    Liked by 1 person

  5. PS. Enjoyed seeing the picture disc in a different context. 🙂

    Like

  6. Love the lesser geysers that mumble. Got to be a metaphor in there somewhere!

    Like

  7. Joy Pixley says:

    The title really pulls this one together. Love that last line too. Wish I could just push “play” and have it work, some days. Or even better, “stop”, or “rewind.”

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Ah good, thank you Joy. Hope you get some rest and “pause” this weekend from busy travel and busy-ness. Appreciate you reading and letting me know what you thought. Sometimes I’m lucky with good title trigger…as this time, happy you picked up on that. Bill

      Liked by 1 person

      • Joy Pixley says:

        Thanks, Bill. I am in the process of blowing off going out to the bar with my friends so that I can make an early night of it instead. Only a moderately-full weekend ahead, but that’s not counting all the work that needs to get done. But first: rest!

        Liked by 1 person

      • pinklightsabre says:

        Early signs of “mid-life” but I relate 😀 to rest and restoration…amen. Cheers, Bill

        Liked by 1 person

      • Joy Pixley says:

        Well I *did* already go out three nights this week, including salsa dancing, and I have plans to go out tomorrow afternoon and again on Sunday and Monday nights. So I need a rest more than socializing at this point!

        Liked by 1 person

      • pinklightsabre says:

        You go girl! Leave time to restore and write, I know you will…

        Liked by 1 person

  8. Lynn Love says:

    Ooh, those crows clicking just for you … is that a good thing? Though I love to hear them and they get louder at this time of year, or so it seems, as some of our winged visitors bugger off to warmer climbs. The corvids are tough though, weather every frost and storm, keep us company through the frosts. Love your road kill dog too -spot on

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