The raindrops are spattering against the windows as I sit at my table and stare out at the rising sun. The joe is warm in my hand as I think about how being up this early will force me back into bed tonight before the sun has kissed the sky goodnight. The last month has been a trying one. Amidst all the turmoil, decisions are rearing their heads that need to be weighed upon. And then a myriad of things that need to be accomplished or at least taken care of before the next round of hurdles stumble onto my path.
The days fall down, one after the other and my mind wanders and turns in on itself as it often does. Wandering darkened corridors of my mind, heedless of the warnings I've posted in those imagined hallways. The absence of children's laughter drives me into memory, if only to not forget. It drives into imagined shoe boxes full of photos, conversations, and electronic scraps of paper. The magic of modern times I suppose. Inexplicably? Inevitably, I find myself running my fingers and eyes through old stuff. Funny how looking for one thing always seems to lead to finding something else. "I'll love you until I die." "I love you so much, I just need you here today." "You hurt me, I'm sorry I'm so bad for you." "I just wish I didn't have to give up one of you for the other." It's a strange thing, it's like digging up a grave to feel something again as you look at the casket. Maybe because the headstone is so bland, or perhaps that grave was never marked at all. Hell, some days I wonder if anything was ever laid to rest there.
But the sun is up now, my cup grown cold. The daily chores beckon to me, a mindless routine just to keep myself from sitting and staring into space. It's like a party. Time to take of the old robe and put on my big boy pants to tackle the day.
"I wrote a little song for you
with a melody I'd borrowed put to words that didn't rhyme
to repeat what you already knew
as the stones thrown at your window tapped a syncopated time
you kept a distance out of fear you'd break
but what good's a single wind chime, hanging quiet all alone?
the music our collisions would make is a sound that turns the road-that-leads-us-back-home
into Home."
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