Before 8am, fire trucks ran the road in front of our apartments. I stood in the kitchen and listened, trying to count, but I couldn’t get a number. More than one, less than five. The sirens brushed together, like second cousins at a funeral.
It was a long day. Tomorrow’s an early morning. I haven’t felt inspired. Or, I’ve felt inspired, but my inspiration keeps dribbling into other things, life, hobbies, work. I’ll have more for you tomorrow. But it was an empty day, anyway. Except for those sirens. Those stuck with me. I still hear them.
I’m watching the stop along the top of my closet door because it’s something I can see without moving and I don’t want to move right now. I did think about it, moving. I wanted the cold, something outdoors, a flushed moon. A picture to fit the things I’m feeling, a bridge from out there to in here. Paper-light. Blowing away.
But I kept my feet under the covers and I’m looking at the stop. It’s present. And that says something. It’s vibrant. There are colors, metal, paint. I don’t know every nook and cranny. That’s frightening, a bit, because here it is and I can only see so much. Unlike the moon, I didn’t make it – I didn’t dream it up. I’ve got no words but what it gives me. Like: daytime; invites; eggshell; the Marianas Trench.
There’s more to the world in front of me than I always give it credit for. And the things I do give credit to are more in front of me than my dreams sometimes admit.