#47

The first hawk was gliding just a couple feet above the treetops, in a place where they reach at each other over a road going up a steep hill, so I was looking up at the bird as though standing in a sharply-cut gully with a river running through it. It was so rounded in the head in its flight, its wings so stubbed and its body so fluffed, tail spread wide and all so creamy white and pale underneath that I thought it was a Cooper's until it lazily banked to the right and the sun flared russet through the tail. 

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More hawks...tomorrow! I gotta do it, sorry folks. I wrote the second parts of this post first, like a fool, and now it's gone and gotten late and I gotta work in the morning. Well, by all means, you have every right to leave in a huff, but, pray, if you can find it in your heart to forgive an idiotic man, read on. 

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Funny. I have long believed myself a person who had seasoned into the kind of individual that is quick to absolve others of their trespasses against me. That I was good at forgiving, and have in fact been known for it. This last season of my life has cut deep enough that I find myself in the midst of a flood of rotten but still recognizable grudges floating up around me, and I find myself with new teeth to bite into their sodden, long-buried flesh.

Fuck be upon it! So I'm not as nice as I thought I'd forced myself to become, and lash out like any beast when wounded. Nothing for it but to savor the flavor and try to move on. Steps, time, etc. Every ten shifts, I walk a hundred miles. I have all the time I could possibly want.

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It just struck me, as I listen to a particular song through headphones for the very first time, that I will never again so long as I may live hear this particular song through the speakers of my old car. I did not miss my old car till just now, when my heart was pierced as though by a thousand bitter spears. 

Life! Ha!

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--JL