Dormant rhododendron still shivers in the wind. Spirits, dreaming? What light there is won’t last, but casts longer, more solid shadows than other times of year. One could build an old house out of those shadows swallowed up by darkness. Candles lit in the house built of shadows: abandoned cats’ eyes in attic windows. Two roses grow in memory outside the abandoned house of shadows, language of ancestors flooding through the blood. Voices barely audible. Spirits rustle in dormant rhododendron leaves & branches. No need to add name & address to cards sent to the house made of shadows. They arrive just the same.
Asking This Silent, Rhetorical Question
Bad rain out of an equally dark daytime sky approaching return of sun at Solstice ten days from now kept me housebound yesterday imagining homeless kicked out of shelters during the same hours I read, listened to music, even if Handel’s Sarabande is over the top enough to become soundtrack for an English film. Today I let myself out without a leash carrying the walking stick. Whatever kind of front it was yesterday has moved on, & now variegated clouds everywhere one sought to experience those four years in Virginia & DC, but never blew down far enough from Canada, along with these newly-arrived Common Eiders with headshakes, neck wobbles (corporeal signs instantly recognized), & quick sprints propelled by webbed-feet. Nothing common about them under this massive cloud, low-lying, protective amphitheater lit by ocean’s reflective light. Not long before I begin to look past limits of earth’s atmosphere, take a brief sojourn into broader space, away from this Time toward an unforeseen future, then plunge back down to earth. Here & now. Bones & flesh. Covered in dry clothes. Thankfully. Heading home. But there was this other guy on the path wearing blue-hooded sweatshirt with strapped knapsack too small for him, who turned around more than once, & eventually stopped completely to watch me walk by, wondering how I’ve done it, kept head above water, stayed out of prison, his own eyes asking this silent, rhetorical question, for which we both sensed I’d have no answer.
Thanks to Eli Reed for the suggestion