Dozing on the sofa on a Saturday with just the sound of clocks and some far-off engine. Days of Future Passed by the Moody Blues and all this rumination on time. The record is draped in the 60s and feels far away but the strings sound timeless and connect me to today. My New York Times app says click here to see the front page of the paper the day you were born and it’s black and white with slanted typeset and news about the Viet Cong, Khrushchev, all the men’s hair combed back with Brylcreem. It’s near impossible to get up before the light but every day I try, and can’t stay awake until dark. There have been bear sightings at the park with a typed notice at the trail head and I keep thinking I’ll see one but never do, just heard them snorting in the bushes. In the summer after a good hard rain the earth feels restored and today, the sound of a crow clicking, the tall grass bent over dripping, me scattered between the now and then feeling one with the season and ready to turn.

Categories: prose, writing

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, pacific northwest, prose