October 21, 2018 (Sunday)

Muted mornings of fog, leaving for work in the 6 o’clock hour and not getting home until 5, wondering if it’s going to pay off, this new job. Dawn saw the bob cat again by the neighbor’s, described it as two to three times the size of Roxy, more a dark brown color. The leaves are near the end, the big maples going from gold to brown. I burned the last of the wood from the fire last weekend, grilled a kalbi beef fillet, waited for the moon—then later, watched as it turned everything milky and luminescent with the fog. Creatures out stirring in it—me, taking a piss by the side of the house, looking in like a burglar. In the morning, I walked to the lake and there was no one there, just a man on the shore with his hands in his pockets (me) contemplating his next move, likely under or over shooting it, thinking too much or not enough, unable to see himself from the outside in, too fixated on his own reflection. I saw a film today oh boy, about a lucky man who made the grade.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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11 Responses to

  1. We definitely see through our own eyes, which might be what makes relationships so interesting, frustrating, confounding, etc.
    Best wishes Bill on the new job. Sounds like changing seasons in your life. Hang in.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Just a contemplative figure by the lake, alone, except for the bobcat watching him, contemplating whether he’d be tasty. Maybe a blackthorn walking stick would be a good idea, I like digesting your well-crafted posts, and wouldn’t want you to be digested.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. ksbeth says:

    lots of reflection/reflections going on here

    Like

  4. walt walker says:

    What, wait, Is this a new new job or the same new job — the old new job? I’m guessing it’s the same new job, but I’m dense and have to ask questions where less dense people don’t.

    Like

  5. Dave Ply says:

    Fog seems a good offset for the grandeur of fall leaves; like life, with its little spots of brilliance, there is often a foggy muddle of things that are and things that are to come.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      I read today from a poet I like “the fog was like garlands in the woods” and love that image. And now…back to rain. Rain it in, so to speak!

      Liked by 1 person

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