mood: to the island airport!
there is something to his outstretched hands (a fragility) & blinded eyes in this cardboard darkness. and somehow it makes me entirely vulnerable to watch this (my eyes have adjusted to our artificial black) while he steps tentative through rows of saws & screw-top jars of nails. the builder of houses & mender of all things, now with his tendril arms and uneven footsteps. he is searching for scissors, amber bottles, the light-switch. we swirl paper in chemicals, timing this perfectly & peer into the red-light liquid. we are waiting for images that will float on the surface as memories, shadows, fingerprints left in places you have left behind.
sitting in the backseat on old boy road (inverary, ontario), thinking about suitcases & halifax & i am flooded with sudden anxiety. unrest. something pitted deep my stomach that comes as a surprise. in the car, past half-cut hayfields & their rainclouds, c. asks, "what do you think of me coming to king's for next year?" we talk about possibilities, while i quietly cross my fingers, my toes. the feeling dissipates, unraveling under the wheels & does not return. i want these distances smaller.
we spent this weekend at harbourfront centre, waiting under christmas light canopies for the late-night shows, sleeping through the morning rainstorm. after friday's show we chat with jill barber about nova scotia & church concerts & the blinding stage lights. "yours are the only faces i could see and the songs, they are all new." a pirate parade marches through the ohbijou show with bagpipes & waiting for them to pass, we turn in our seats. an empty bandstand listening to songs written in banff about this city. (later that night, we find half the band & margaritas at the tex-mex restaurant on queen). there are piles of cds outside a relocated music shop, scattered about the sidewalk & strangers look through them, bringing home the most mysterious.
sitting in the backseat on old boy road (inverary, ontario), thinking about suitcases & halifax & i am flooded with sudden anxiety. unrest. something pitted deep my stomach that comes as a surprise. in the car, past half-cut hayfields & their rainclouds, c. asks, "what do you think of me coming to king's for next year?" we talk about possibilities, while i quietly cross my fingers, my toes. the feeling dissipates, unraveling under the wheels & does not return. i want these distances smaller.
we spent this weekend at harbourfront centre, waiting under christmas light canopies for the late-night shows, sleeping through the morning rainstorm. after friday's show we chat with jill barber about nova scotia & church concerts & the blinding stage lights. "yours are the only faces i could see and the songs, they are all new." a pirate parade marches through the ohbijou show with bagpipes & waiting for them to pass, we turn in our seats. an empty bandstand listening to songs written in banff about this city. (later that night, we find half the band & margaritas at the tex-mex restaurant on queen). there are piles of cds outside a relocated music shop, scattered about the sidewalk & strangers look through them, bringing home the most mysterious.
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i have temporarily returned to the world of blogging. we'll see how long it lasts
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