Monday, January 27, 2014
Oh, me. Where are you taking me? A chair or a bed propped up with pillows with a humming lap warmer we use to tinker and paint, building modest homes for virtual souls from the ground up. Little scaffolds, bits of colored scrim, windows that open to precisely set pictures. In stages. Let's build stages for others to play on, some who will drift by, some who will come home. Oh, let's leave what we've built for others and paint on elsewhere. Let's take our contraptions of plastic and celluloid and enshrine everything holy. Take me over the deep ocean to a small land so I can capture the light off flowers, off the surf, off faces so beautiful simply from smiling in the sun. But islands are small and I can hear the music of the sea calling as it ebbs and crashes into a walkway made to translate the ocean for people, so we can hear her song in its open, sonorous voice. Let's scoop up our two ears and pad through the sand in search of monoliths to climb. Let's embrace craggy rock faces with our whole bodies in different shapes until we see the desert stretched around behind us and feel the rocks so warm. Let's march back to the woods with scratched elbows and burnt knees and eyes of sunlight and drop it all into the dear river so the bundle of parts can float along beside outcroppings and trees and let the roll of the river shuffle all the parts back together so they can be home. Oh, me. We do miss adventure.