Sunday, March 26, 2006

I could just tell that the sun was having kind of an off day. It kept returning to under its cloudy covers and actually cried midday for some reason. I took advantage of a brief but nice spell when it was out and about, perhaps getting itself a small snack. I took a walk; it seemed like a good idea.
I didn’t walk far before I found what I wasn’t looking for. It smelled too sweet to be simply mud. I know though that mud can tricky and fool girls like my self into thinking it syrup. A little theater made of a drainage basin had a barrier railing for me to sit upon. So we watched each other from our respective perches. You got bored first and leapt down to search for god knows what in the leaf litter. You had an awful lot of associates with you in that acorn wooded shrub-less ditch but you were particular. I don’t think I could ever get tired of watching you. From the moment you’re chocolate chip eyes caught me and you climbed that Scarlet Oak sapling as if in mimic of my silly stance I was your loyal patron. Every once and a while you would pause to peer over your shoulder, I think you were making sure my eyes were still on you. They were. You made your bop bop bop hop extra engaging for me. And those logic-less patterns you dug in I found delightful.
The clearly menstrual sun had had its fill of cosmic cookies and cream and slid once again beneath its nimbus bedding looking down and pouty. It seemed as if whimpers could lead to weeping at any moment.
It was good to escape. I wonder if I’ll ever see you again. I can promise to visit that same basin, with that smell. Meet me on a maple tree and I’ll watch you and your jumpy dance company.
So sorry I had to pry myself from your showy displays. I know your kind doesn’t mind a downpour, and to be frank neither do I, but I wouldn’t want to appear dramatic when I returned to my friends in that other world. You’re the theatrical one. When I let my eyes slip from you I felt like I was spilling the only punch bowl I’d ever have that was really filled with mud syrup smell. It fell heavy and close to me. I hope to always be sticky with it.
You fuzzy little Prima Donna, I’m you biggest fan.

No comments: