Coffee: Fair Trade Ethiopian Medium Dark, Harris Teeter Brand
There’s nothing quite like a summer rain. Big bank of clouds – hold me, have me, swallow me.
I almost touched a gorilla once. I was at the zoo. The gorilla was an alpha, a silverback. He was at the glass and who knows what he was thinking. There were loud families. I was three. I breathed on the glass and fogged it up. I put my hands out and then he put his hands out and we palmed together, just the glass to separate. A couple years ago, they shot a gorilla for doing a little bit more.
I imagine the silverback would have done more if he had the option. Mammal blood is violent. Millions of years ago – when the earth was upending, dinosaurs dying – our rat ancestors got by on snatched eggs and caught bugs. White teeth, bristles, snarling. We’re not too far from that. So I’ve got no illusions that the magic was held in place by a few inches of stiff glass. When my mother tells the story, lovingly, she sees the perfect days of the ’90’s, hot blessed summers, Berlin’s wall fallen and a bunch of plexiglass put in its place.
A few decades on, the walls have gone up again. The Supreme court has voted for prejudiced immigration policies; the HHS is stalling on family reunification. We see each others’ thin whiskers and starved eyes; scarce water in a desert we’re all too eager to spill blood over.
But there’s nothing quite like a summer rain. Big bank of clouds – hold me, have me, swallow me; drive sixty by Jordan lake; windows down, peat odor; the sun’s silver back has the water and there’s only the car, the road, the small bank between us. Magic is made in men and women’s hands, but you have to trick yourself to hold it.
History of Wolves, Emily Fridlund (2017 Man Booker Prize Shortlist)
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“Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.” – The Walt Disney Corporation