Evening Constitutional Nov 23, 2009

i don't want to
i am tired and would like
to stay here and continue
what i was almost doing
but have not done all day

well alright i will put on my warm pants
because these pants are flimsy
and my jacket because the air goes right through this sweatshirt
and my hat because my hair is short
and the wind goes right through it

it is nice out here probably because
i put on my warm pants they are more comfortable than i remember
and the neighborhood is more interesting than i remember
especially now at night with each house lit its own way

the road is welcoming and each pace invigorating
and the air is like the vinegar stew we ate for dinner
promising amongst ourselves to keep a pot on the stove
and to cut up vegetables and potatoes from the garden and drop them in
throughout winter

some houses seem too bright and manicured with grafted trees lit from below and
others are dark with cars and no signs of life and some are brand new and out of place
and others have candles in the windows or a small lamp on the walk or an old beautiful tree
or a man's silhouette behind a shade or an open window with a baseball game on tv

& behind one rises the backlit exhaust of a clothes drier, and i smell it
and i smell a smoldering fireplace, perhaps ours across the neighborhood,
the smell of a cigar, the cold empty air, the smell of trees resting

i feel the blood finding new paths through my legs
and i promise to do this every day for the rest of my life
like my great grandmother did,
whom i never met

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Evening Constitutional

links to:
- a little bit about sam
- quiet evening snow blown with silence
- readjust
- the lake around which are a thousand tiny fires

all writing, chronological
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