Gusts and lightning, hurricanes
Tornadoes, floods, torrential rains
The Captain lashes to the wheel –
Character – an even keel.
Speaking of the weather,
Let not these words dismay –
Change may be a feather
That falls on who it may,
But each is her own Captain,
Her well marked maps abound.
No feather tells a Captain
Which depths that she must sound.
Speaking of the weather,
I think it’s safe to say,
Change is like a feather
That falls on who it may.
It flits, it floats, it falling, flies,
Emits a casual lift of ties,
But not for easy, not for cheap.
Its shoulder queasy wants to keep
The ties that bind, the merry smiles
The hearty find, the traveled miles.
The bearer, weighted down with change,
Does find the passage dim and strange.
And wanting still to hold that place –
The people, friendships, love, and grace –
Doth reach both ways but stands so still,
The future frays the battled will.
And so she knows the change must win,
And freeing courage deep within,
Releases anchors founded here.
Tucks safe the memories held so dear,
And lets the winds of fortune wail,
The goals she’s set – the billowed sail.
So waving, frantic that they’ll see
She cuts the mooring, cruises free.
The sunset forward, history aft,
Heartaches cried and funnies laughed,
A ballast full of lessons learned,
Friendships forged, demons burned –
The Captain sets a course for Then,
Embraces now, begins again.
So Change unfettered, rides the clock
And elsewhere seeks another dock.
Tune in for the conclusion of this self-fulfilling prophecy on December 20th.
Grady did Western art. The way she explained it – her childhood hero was Clint Eastwood. She was entranced with his imagery on the screen and the “cowboy motif,” based on his example. “I used to walk around chewing the end of a beef jerky stick, like the outlaw, Josie Wales, and his cigarillo. I ate beans right from the skillet with a wooden spoon, wore button down shirts and threadbare trousers, and Jack scolded me more than once for smudging dirt on my face to achieve that rough shaven look.”
“So you were a cross-dresser before you knew you were gay?” I joked.
“Hush your mouth!” she teased, “All kids play around with costumes and characters. I just couldn’t get over the walk, you know? I didn’t think of that stance or walk as manly. I was just fascinated to walk as if all life fulfilling chi originated and radiated from a bulge in my crotch,” she giggled.
“I am not going to ask.” I said.
“It’s probably best you don’t.”
The damn toaster is set at two. That won’t do. Turn it to three at least. Not five – unless burnt toast is the goal for starting the day? Some day it will be, either way. Coffee’s done.
It snowed just twelve miles away yesterday. Snowed. In April. Nearly May. Probably need to wear a thin layer under a button down again today. Leave the window blind up; the sunshine is looking mighty nice right now. Remember to get creamer at the store on the way in. They’ll be closed by the time you get off. Um – toast should basically be a boat for butter; keep going. There’s some Apricot marmalade in the fridge – use that too.
Take the empty egg cartons to the farm people today. May not need more eggs, but they look messy piled up there on top of the fridge. Floor could really use a good mop in here too. Not now. Only two hours before the first meeting. Better get busy scarfing that toast and coffee down. Take the eye vitamins and immune system supplements after you finish the first piece.
No, there’s no time to read that chapter. It’s an eat and run morning. Should have thought about that last night when sleep wasn’t intriguing enough to cajole. A little effort wouldn’t hurt on those nights. Four hours rest isn’t what those degenerate eyes need. And a ten o’clock wake-up (in order to get them an hour and a half more) lacks style. Really. Could have hit the 4000 word count with a decent night’s sleep this morning.
Leave the heat down. Save on the power bill. Speaking of bills – open that one from yesterday and text the amount to M so she can pay it. After that NSF from the local bank last week, it might be a good idea to close that account today or tomorrow. Lady tried to say the online transaction records are updated daily. So not true. Best close it and just work with cash for the small amount every month. And check both post offices on the way too. Otherwise that Walmart package will get sent back.
Hit the shower. Use the shower cap. Hair looks serviceable (smells fine too). No point in wasting time messing with that plain-Jane cut. Tomorrow’s the bigger meeting, so save those pants for that. Wear the greenerish-brown pair. Otherwise it’s the same black pair worn yesterday. Bad enough only three or four pairs fit, but do try and keep an appearance of variety. Thank goodness for all these shirts. They need to be rearranged again to hang in ROYGBV order. Too much hurry whenever coming or going. There are probably still clothes in the dryer crowding wrinkles into each other.
Just a hint of blush. No age spots to cover up yet – small blessings. Wow! What was that dream last night?! Someone with makeup done sparkly? And a hubbub of argument about “being out of uniform?” How fun to still be at work during the scant hours of sleep managed. Seriously.
Leave the books. No time to read them at work anyway. Lunch consists of a can of fruit at the overflowing desk or while standing in the front office. Stop kidding yourself. They’ll still be here when the day is done. You have time. Belt. Don’t forget the belt. Brown one would work with this. Maybe ice the eyes before leaving. The cold would feel good, and it wouldn’t hurt the bags under them either. Stop worrying. “could be twenty or thirty years,” he said. There’s time.
This piece is the result of following Brian Kiteley’s second writing exercise in his book, The 3 A.M. Epiphany. If you can get past the introduction, I highly recommend this to any writer with a day job.
interruptingcow