The last night before daylight saving time ends, you steel yourself with big gulps of air at sunset, remembering how the pinks and oranges feel when they arrive late, when they feel like evening. Tomorrow, the darkness will feel like an unwelcome friend, rushing in long before you are ready, catching you unawares. You fear it less these days, resting as you are in the brightly lit mountains, the elevation bringing you nearer the sun, an appropriate worship.
Remembering still that there were years when this season scared me like nightmares and monsters under the bed.
I look at train tickets across America, consider contents in suitcases. Wonder when I will begin to miss what I have left behind. I assumed I would have by now, but the idea of my own house keys still sits like a shrug on my shoulder blades. How the road beckons me yet, a new view, another thousand miles of speaking with the Universe and asking it for answers. Where would I be if I could ask all the questions I wanted, read all the stories I could find and write all the answers in song form, in fantasy? Is this not what I am trying to do, but subversively, but failingly? It's like I am one baby step there, but the next step is diving, and I fear I don't yet know how to swim.
I will ask all the questions, I will
read all the stories, and then
write all the answers in a
song.
Just give me a moment to find my bearings.
Just give me a moment to hear my voice.
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