all love...

we drove to my father's cabin this evening, bearing plates of victuals. the moon is incredibly bright now. a smudge on the windscreen cast a shadow on the skirt of my coat. the coat is camel hair, tan, but it looked the color of slate. everything blue and grey. we turned onto the long dirt drive. i hopped out to open the gate. the gate was broken. it was haphazardly mended with assorted tape. the padlock was gone. i didn't have the remote electronic gadget with me so i couldn't open it that way either. gadgets-- i'm at odds with those today. the sister remembered the default button. success! and then a climb through native grey pine and live oak. dust plumes in the cold air. the last bit of drive is composed mostly of ruts. my father is in his recliner. a book spread in his lap. we sit by his woodstove and talk about putin and the magnificence of certain corvids. ravens steal golf balls for no good purpose. later, he produces the wool throw from 1936. it was a gift to my grandmother. i never knew her because she died before i came along. she only had one child so all i know about her is what he can tell me. he gives me the blanket to mend. it's been stowed somewhere for a good portion of its life. it's the sort of handiwork that old women enjoy. i like it though. an exercise in patience.

you have to learn how to die/ if you wanna wanna be alive --wilco

it's a good lesson, really. how many times we die. then, how many times it is a lesson. i'm sure i've died a lot. but i'm rather thick-headed, love. slow on the uptake.

abracadabra. and the body rises. reanimation. trumpets. vaults spring open. odorless. whatever before is happily extinguished. a joy and a comfort. a spider shed on the doorstones. every tear dried and bright best sunshine.