Anodyne
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
 
Eight or nineteenth day straight on the job, up at dawn, the north light all changed in the last few days, that dusty creeping quality that says, "Fall." Just a whisper, really, like the lone cricket peeping outside the apartment door at 2:45am. Or the trees along Quebec Street by Science World already gone to gold, leaves scattered curbside "like shook foil."

Down the hill Sunday night. Glimpse of a long-lost face. Emotion deflected into landscape as per usual. Paying closer than usual attention to the sky, high mackerel-colored cloud rolling through. Slant light on the green mountains, illuminating ridgelines typically compressed by distance and haze.

The office smells of Pet Deodorizer and Recently Deceased Mouse. The shop smells like Aurora's pilot light. I smell like Old Spice stick deodorant, sneaker futz and sweat. Beard stubble higher on my cheeks than ever before, on the back of my neck and shoulders, biceps, knuckles and ears.

Joe McDuphrey's "Papa," Otis Jackson Jr.'s fingers slow on the electric keys.
- posted by cjb @ 9:19 AM


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