Friday, November 18, 2016

Time To Pet

The luxury of a weekend's worth of time squats in front of me. The wind pushing its way through the palms outside, inviting a ride up the valley. Shadows of the trees sing back and forth against the wall outside the kitchen window, allowing then denying the sun's easy passage. Silhouettes against the wall elongating, swaying, gathering together again in bursts, as a murmur of darkened birds, imaginary in flight.

When I return, the flock will be stretched apart and away, all having migrated slowly to the east, the sun falling away from the sky, then cooling in the faraway waters of the Pacific. Offering night as its compensatory deal. From what a great height to view the only world, from what a great height to daily fall. 

There are a number of things that I told part of myself that I might do this weekend, all boring domestic stuff but little victories nonetheless. Now, I have agreed to work extra hours. I have done such terrible, terrible things to my credit cards. We are hardly on speaking terms.  I get monthly letters, all written in an indecipherable code. 

The cat above is my buddy, Jerry. He shows great love for me, and I for him. I go feed him, he and I will discuss the ongoing issues of canine tedium in purrs and coos and soft talk on the couch. Over a tin of fresh cat food and some light petting, we bond. 

I'm not sure what happened, but somewhere along the way I ceased being a person that wanted a pet, even an easy one. I only wanted petting, an easy one.