the season of crickets
it's as if they like to be close to buildings,
chirping from beneath a planted sequoia or ground-cover
they used to like to come indoors
and my brother and i would wake up to
four or five in our shower somehow
big shiny black strangers that we had to catch
and they'd hop in our hands but never chirp in there.
the nights after hot days are cold
just enough that you aren't sweating anymore when you lay down
and it would be so nice to have someone next to you
now that you wouldn't be all sticky
and you could rub each other's bellies under the sheets.
days mix together fun and mild agony like some crazy blender concoction. on friday sierra and i set up a rope on which to rappel down the stairwell of ml. dan and heather kidnapp me to talk and so that i can ask them if they're a "thang", which they are. we talk for two hours about why i don't have a girlfriend myself, and it comes down to my own indecisiveness. while we're talking i don't get to say good night to sierra. its a mellow night and cold on the back steps... they're so cute together.
saturday sierra and i talk about things... drinking, shortcuts to understanding, family. so wonderful to talk to her.
sunday i call sandy and he's alive and dancing, very tired;. we plan to go to the beach before it's to cold. he says the waves were beautiful, and i have a craving for ocean or mountain... ahhh!
monday my camera breaks and my car battery dies, the latter of which i get fixed. i borrow talia's camera, take a jaunt down in the crum on my bike, poppin' railroad ties, photographin' crum-henge. and a sprinkler. and josh's fingers. and chuck's face. later sierra and i wrestle.
work caught up with me... a paper for shamanism. it's too nice out. so quite out.
just because i think in dreams doesn't mean i can't make them real.
09.25 | september | 10.04