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Tuesday, December 14, 2004 |
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It's dark here, and early in the evening. The dogs are wrestling behind me on the rug, squeezing in a last frolic before they crash for the night. Apple is in love with Ranger. He is many times her size, but neither of them seems to notice this. They play so hard together, all the while wearing big smiles. Sally sulks to one side of the room. She hates Ranger. She lies waiting for him to stray near so she can curl a lip and growl under her breath. A phoneguy turned up today out of the blue and put in a second line--hooray--so my voice line is free at last. He remembered me from when he installed the DSL on my old place in Surprise Valley, and he asked whether I was going to stay put here. I told him I was in a holding pattern. Another year, tops.
Some unfinished poem bits that have piled up over the years are wanting to be joined now for some reason into a longer work, and that makes me happy. Something is taking a shape, quickening, on the long yellow notepads. I notice how I suddenly halt--how the excitement and gathering energy of something worthwhile coming under my pen sort of frightens me. I took a break from it today; I don't think any harm was done. It still sort of vibrates when I look at it, so it's still alive. |
