the lake across the street is very quiet. or so i think. i am couped up in a hotel room with the tv on and two women calmly getting ready for a burial. flipping through a magazine, applying foundation, commenting solemnly that pleated pants are no good for a woman, i sit amongst them quite serene. last night's arrival was quick, fast-paced and i barely grabbed my thirty plus year-old typewriter and we were out the door; out that door which holds so many of my chilhdhood memories. it is all quick now. foggy, fragmented and perplexing
but we are here, in this room, so calm, like the lake. the lake is reflective of what our day will be like. i haven't seen it yet but if it has caps then i can assume our day too will be rocky. we haven't seen much of anything or anyone. driving up the pit road in the dark made my stomach flip like it used to so many summers ago. walking around these parts at night always made me wary; one should never walk around here at night.
perspectives. i find my life limited at such a young age and yet i am on my way to a funeral for a man that was seventy-five when i was born. he has always been old to me. now he is not old but a lived person; he lived, loved, lied and then died. he taught me solitare and i will always be thankful for that.
in and out. quick and dirty.
and we're gone.
