disturb not her dreams

i've just spent six hours making sock monkies with my mother's friends.

there's been this strange desire building in me all week to run away, to venture north to bare limestone and deep water. if i can manage it, somehow, i'll go there this week on a day off with a peanut butter and banana sandwich and a book about the dead, waiting to see if i can make sense or clarity out of the here and now.

the leaves are all beginning to change and i'm feeling restless, displaced by this, my first september in nineteen years that doesn't involve newly sharpened pencils or reading lists.

i feel like i should read homer, or maybe some plato.

[but not heidegger. never, ever again will i read heidegger. ever].

honey, i hope you can

after midnight last night, the wind picked up, blowing in a high and faded colour for the last full day of summer.

i've been quiet, reading books in full gulps and trying out new kinds of apples. the cats have become my constant companions, mirroring the movements of my legs as i wander aimlessly through the house and around the property.

i spend hours reading recipes without feeling guilty and have made lists of preserves that musn't be ignored.

cakes have been on my mind all week.

tomorrow is the first day of fall. the shift, i feel, will be greatly appreciated.

i'm not pretending.

a foursome of americans walked intothe fish shop on saturday.

the husband- tall, balding, and slightly rounded- asked a million and one questions without waiting for the answer. his wife- bad dye job, piled curls, blue eye shadow to her brows- whispered to me over her husband's orders. their friend- older, white haired, with a soft, secret smile- watched with a fond gleam in his eyes. and finally, father.

father was, i suspect, suffering from some kind of ailment. he shuffled slowly through the front area, looking solemly at the relics we have hanging on the wall. he carefully examined the picture of my mother with a tail. and finally, he zoned in on the smoked fish. without hesitation, he reached out, and grabbed a single chub by the tail.

of course his daughter told him to put it back, but he smiled, and told her he was buying it. he told her he would hold onto it, and keep it safe until i could price it up for him.

two dollars later and father shuffled slowly out of the shop, his singe lone chub wrapped up with a paper towel for the- i assume- long car ride ahead.