Mountain
Well, I Stand Up Next To A Mountain
And I Chop It Down With The Edge Of My Hand
– Jimi Hendrix, Voodoo Child (Slight Return)
It’s primarily black outside, punctuated by scattered Christmas lights. Night rain dotting the window glass. I’m ready for bed. My body is tired — actually all of me is tired. Down to the foundations. So much is missing. This year has poured me out. My Mom died one month ago, today.
Sitting here, reflecting nothing, listening to Hendrix’s guitar waver out of my speakers. Tomorrow, and whatever time lies after that, seem like a mountain before me. I need to fill-up somehow…before I start to chop it down.
I love you, Mom.