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walking into nighttime
Jan. 7th, 2011 06:06 pmAt this latitude, at this time of year, it's easy to walk into nighttime--it comes rushing up to meet you. Tonight small birds were employing their magic to disguise themselves as leaves: sparrows fluttered up off the ground--then became elm leaves when I looked more closely; a killdeer or other small plover ran across the road, but feeling my eyes on him, became an oak leaf.
It was still daytime--but only just--when, after one failed attempt, I worked up nerve to go down the long drive and then up the forbidding steps of the house that's attached to the property where the goat was. I had a carrot for the goat and a note to leave if no one was home. The house was as tumbledown as everything else. There was an artificial pine wreath on the door, which was encouraging, but snarling dogs jumped at the door's window when I knocked, which was not. I didn't leave my note. I walked around to where I had seen the goat before, but she wasn't in her little pen.
The sky was pink when I went to the little shrine of glass and candles beside our church and left an offering for other people's hopes and prayers (and also for the goat).
Night had settled in to roost by the time I was buying eggs at the convenience store.
"Someone's parked in your loading ramp; you'll have to have 'em towed," said an old guy to the young and handsome manager.
"No, no, that's me," said the manager. "I'm parked there."
"I know, I know it's you; I'm kidding you," said the old guy.
"That's my Mercedes--how to you like it?" asked the manager.
"That's not a Mercedes; that's one of those Hondas or something," said the old guy. "I bet you only bring out the Mercedes when you're taking out the girls."
"It's not a Honda, it's a Mazda," said the girl at the checkout.
"Yeah, a Mazda; my Mercedes is a Mazda," said the manager.
"Mazda, Honda, one of those foreign cars," said the old guy (which I thought was amusing, because what's a Mercedes then?)
As I left, the old guy said to me, "Stay warm!"
I thanked him and told him I would.
It was still daytime--but only just--when, after one failed attempt, I worked up nerve to go down the long drive and then up the forbidding steps of the house that's attached to the property where the goat was. I had a carrot for the goat and a note to leave if no one was home. The house was as tumbledown as everything else. There was an artificial pine wreath on the door, which was encouraging, but snarling dogs jumped at the door's window when I knocked, which was not. I didn't leave my note. I walked around to where I had seen the goat before, but she wasn't in her little pen.
The sky was pink when I went to the little shrine of glass and candles beside our church and left an offering for other people's hopes and prayers (and also for the goat).
Night had settled in to roost by the time I was buying eggs at the convenience store.
"Someone's parked in your loading ramp; you'll have to have 'em towed," said an old guy to the young and handsome manager.
"No, no, that's me," said the manager. "I'm parked there."
"I know, I know it's you; I'm kidding you," said the old guy.
"That's my Mercedes--how to you like it?" asked the manager.
"That's not a Mercedes; that's one of those Hondas or something," said the old guy. "I bet you only bring out the Mercedes when you're taking out the girls."
"It's not a Honda, it's a Mazda," said the girl at the checkout.
"Yeah, a Mazda; my Mercedes is a Mazda," said the manager.
"Mazda, Honda, one of those foreign cars," said the old guy (which I thought was amusing, because what's a Mercedes then?)
As I left, the old guy said to me, "Stay warm!"
I thanked him and told him I would.
