Tangerine: A Book of Hours

The old oak has fallen, unnoticed.

It's wide gray bulk horizontal now -- extending in the underbrush like a rounded wall. One hundred feet or more it was. From its top, the neighborhood was visible as a diorama; small toys coming and going while it endured. Its trunk was so wide that it could not be embraced. Wind breathed through its hand-sized leaves and acorns fell through unnumbered seasons. It held a tree house for some long time. Stories were read, there...

A sunset-tinted rose blooms in the yard. It smells like God.

Butterflies like bits of stained glass tumble in the air. Late last night, and on through the morning, the full moon poured light down on the oak, fallen. Perhaps deer and other creatures moved around it, through the underbrush.

Vast it still is, slumped upon the ground. The date of its birth, unknown -- as the date of its fall. Surely there must have been a great and booming sound as its tangled roots ripped free of softened earth, an oceanic crashing of leaves and branches. A deep pulse in the ground.

But none of this was seen or heard. Now, just the afterword -- and the mute settling of wood and sap.

Posted by The Allurium at 4:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It's cold.

The sky was deep and blue...but that wind. I smacked my thumb with a hammer while hanging a star on the chimney. The cold up there made my nose run. I was glad to put the ladder away, afterward. Fine dustings of snow crusted the grass. There were bits of ice where puddles had been.

The sunset was sweet. Vivid and unstinting. There were pinks and oranges, pale greens and purple-blues. It is dark now, though, and gusts of wind make the house creak. I can hear windchimes dinging, tossed by big air. The metal of the chimes would probably turn your fingers numb, if you were to hold those silvery tubes for very long.

My thumb is still thumping, like a cartoon.

It is Sunday, drifting toward Monday. A holiday weekend gone by...almost. Thanksgiving was nice. Warm and chatty. The rest of the extended weekend's hours were fairly empty, though. That's kind of sad.

And so am I.

Tired, too.

But it is December, now -- and I've always had an affinity for twelve. I think I will pour myself a tall cold glass of water and watch The Fellowship of the Ring again.

Hello, December...

Posted by The Allurium at 9:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The moon is full and perfect tonight. It shines like a bright white light. I went out to look at it. The air is warm. Cicadas chirping. I could smell the vague perfume of a pale yellow rose. Some stars glimmered in an indigo sky. (Moonlight had washed the pitch black away.) Pure pale light made everything glow. Sharpened details. Wind moved through trees.

I stayed there for a while.

Staring at a computer screen, five days a week -- and that cursor is still blinking on white. It is still, more or less, quiet. There is some typing but...well, typing is typing, if you know what I mean. Outside (in the night) I can hear a hot-rodding car. I can see a candle in a window, flickering.

I should watch a movie, play a game, or read a book. I’m kind of tired, though.

I had rice and noodles for dinner. Watched a good show. Talked on the phone for a bit.

Later, I sang some Elvis while feeding the cat.

Posted by The Allurium at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Last night there was rain and thunder: it was all pouring rumbling, lit by intermittent violet flashes. The darkness was deep and mobile, prowling around like an invisible animal. Today is bright crystal blue.

Hello September.

I'm kind of tired and spacey, with coffee pulling me into focus. I have ColdPlay's cd, A Rush of Blood to the Head playing in the background. That's working, filling in the quiet with an appropriate soundtrack for my feel today. What I'd like to do is flash out a really cool story -- then get outside and drive. Time will tell how that plan goes...

The extended weekend was pretty.

At the moment, it doesn't feel like the Wednesday-middle of a new week, and a new month. At the moment, I wish I was driving and sitting on the beach at the same time.

Last night, I dreamt that invisible mountain lions had jumped into the kitchen, and that one was hiding in the refridgerator. I guess that strangeness has washed into this daylight.

Wednesday is super-vivid. Wish my eyes were opened wider.

Posted by The Allurium at 3:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's sweltering.

Everything is pressed in close and heavy, even the air. The sky is milky and low. A gusty wind is blowing, but it misses the skin (and any chance of cooling) bending and twisting the trees, instead.

My head hurts.

I think I'm going to go grab a shower, cool down. Maybe do some laundry tonight. Some writing. Perhaps later I'll watch another DVD, or read. I haven't been back to The Haunting for a while... Hours like these can really stretch on. Really press in. I could use a good weekend, something bright and open.

Hah, looking out the window I see that the day has brightened. I can hear birds. Funny, how changeable things are.

And there's a cooling breeze across my face...

Posted by The Allurium at 4:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The thrills, chills, and day-to-day drills. Spill. (But only a little.) Flee! Be free...

And so it goes...and goes. This bland extinction, this kingdom of dust. The fading of signal and tone, certain waters washing colors pale and translucent. Are these the golden years? One can only hope not.

Is this not my life too? 2:31 PM 5/8/02, and I am not to be trusted.

A bad day. I look for ways to act. Try to find the best ones. I'm sick in the middle of me. What's respectful? What is self-respectful?

Which way do I go to be good in this warped landscape?

I want to be free, to be out in the open world, the wind curving around me, strong and safe. I want to be vivid and I want to be a real boy. Shall I pray for 2,000 years?

"What has happened?"
"I don't know."

"We are in a cage."

Posted by The Allurium at 2:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)