Welcome to Darkness
Redwoods, bark peeling, soaring into the night sky. Shrubbery, too close together, vaguely threatening. Needles from the evergreen trees laced among the giants form a sharp fragrant carpet.
I'm three minutes from my house, alone, in the park, standing at the edge of the path that separates the busy walkway from this black grove. I'm calling a stray cat I know lives in here. She's not coming.
I take one step forward, and stop. From the darkness ahead comes the piping of a flute. I turn tail.
At home, shaking and sweating, I remember the meaning of the word "panic".
Finally. Music isn't second nature to me. The mathiness gets in the way, sometimes. This is the best I could do, so far. I'm starting to feel like I'm treating this thead like my therapist's couch.
Road Music
Burl Ives on the 8-track, my sister sings along, harmonizing in clear high voice until the whirr of the tires, the rhythm of the fields lulls her to sleep. The singer changes. I hum a few bars, forget myself, belt it out, “…a man of means by no means, king of the road.”
“Just because she sings, don’t think you have to,” mother says.
Twenty years gone, I step up on the stage and hesitate. Those words flash through my mind. I wobble the first note, then find it. My sister’s voice is silent, choice or circumstance, but I sing.
I'm starting to feel like I'm treating this thead like my therapist's couch.
Ahem. Join the club.
That's one of the things writing is for.
Received, read, and backflung. I'm liking it, a whole lot.
Deb, I want to read Gravekeeper so damn bad, but this deadline is kicking my ass at the moment. Maybe when it's complete, and my manuscript is off my desk?
Sure - No way in hell it's getting finished before I leave for Seattle anyway, so when I get back?
Definitely, Deb. I have to be done with this book by the 8th or I'm toast, in a huge way. Have fun in Seattle! And if you're going to be anywhere near Philly on your East Coast leg, please let me know.
