I sat on the wide concrete steps in the late afternoon sunlight and watched the last dragonfly hunting. The maple trees' leaves caught and dappled the light, and the cedars and firs stood as bright spires in the sky, touching the last of the sunlight.
A gang of rough bike-mechanic-looking young men astride fantastic bicycles, some hybrid cross of dirt bike and mountain bike, small sturdy frames with big wheels, came whistling past on wheelies down the path and then jumped down the six steps. Each landing was graceful in its own way, each a stylistic interpretation of a landing. They vaulted off the street curbs and put their bikes through paces, like spirited and well-trained horses, Lipizzaners performing airs above the ground. They would rear up into the air and lift and kick, turn and stand, balanced, poised for action. I could almost hear the creak of saddle leather and snort of flared nostrils and champing of bits. A grassy embankment and a swooping drop outside the law school building's west wall provided ample room for leaps and jumps of impressive magnitude. Serious smiles and intent concentration, barely a sound uttered, just the whirring of chains and churning of wheels as they took turns in flying leaping precise practice.
It gave me something to watch as I sat waiting. So long as I have nothing waiting for me, I never mind waiting. I can find a whole world in the concrete grooves at my feet, patterns of moss and lichen, dead leaves, cigarette butts, chewing gum, the passage of thousands of shoes carrying thousands of people inside which live thousands of dreams. When I wait, then I let my thoughts travel free, no reins or spurs. Some of my favorite thoughts are those I've caught as they run. Some of my best thoughts are still running, and I may never catch them.
We rode west into the brilliance. The sun's glare was harsh and made it impossible to see the street lights as they changed. The clear sky promised a cold night.
We had a girl friend over for dinner. Last year I danced with Jesi at least once a week for months, first creating and then practicing a choreography, which we performed as a trio. The third dancer has since moved to Paris, and we miss her, and talked about making a trip to see her next year.
Jesi is learning how to tattoo but says if she ever gets a tattoo on her own skin it'll be someplace she can't see it. We played with veils and rhythms and danced around the floor. Jesi is one of those tall thin long-limbed soft-featured women with long auburn hair and dark brown eyes. I think she must be six feet tall, and she's soft-spoken and bohemian and graceful, and has broken more than a few hearts.
She says she's been a social butterfly lately with her gay "boyfriend" (she makes the little quote marks with her fingers in the air) who is also her neighbor and her supervisor where she works at the grungy downtown concert hall that caters to reggae and punk rock. He took her to a gay bar when she turned 21 last month and she "got to dance with the best looking men, who were all great dancers because, you know, they're gay."
It was good to see her and fun to dance, if only for a short while, with her.
And I've been thinking.
Sunlight refracted against the wings, clear with fine black veining, intricate and so very delicate. The body is metallic black with a white tail, silvery and iridescent in the angular sunlight. Can we see through dragonfly eyes, a million facets, how many different worlds possible? This world here is no separate reality, it is real. I sat thinking about you, and wondering about what events have shaped your life and about where you are now, and where you aren't, and why it seems that personalities in this great empty echoing void HELLOOOOO-hello-hello of electricity seem so real. We know and yet we don't know the faces behind the faces. I see you. And you. And you. I see you and wonder if you had good dreams and slept well last night. I think about the books you might be reading. I wonder if you write the thoughts you really have, or if it's another facade. I see you and you see me. Together we can see a thousand dreams.
A gang of rough bike-mechanic-looking young men astride fantastic bicycles, some hybrid cross of dirt bike and mountain bike, small sturdy frames with big wheels, came whistling past on wheelies down the path and then jumped down the six steps. Each landing was graceful in its own way, each a stylistic interpretation of a landing. They vaulted off the street curbs and put their bikes through paces, like spirited and well-trained horses, Lipizzaners performing airs above the ground. They would rear up into the air and lift and kick, turn and stand, balanced, poised for action. I could almost hear the creak of saddle leather and snort of flared nostrils and champing of bits. A grassy embankment and a swooping drop outside the law school building's west wall provided ample room for leaps and jumps of impressive magnitude. Serious smiles and intent concentration, barely a sound uttered, just the whirring of chains and churning of wheels as they took turns in flying leaping precise practice.
It gave me something to watch as I sat waiting. So long as I have nothing waiting for me, I never mind waiting. I can find a whole world in the concrete grooves at my feet, patterns of moss and lichen, dead leaves, cigarette butts, chewing gum, the passage of thousands of shoes carrying thousands of people inside which live thousands of dreams. When I wait, then I let my thoughts travel free, no reins or spurs. Some of my favorite thoughts are those I've caught as they run. Some of my best thoughts are still running, and I may never catch them.
We rode west into the brilliance. The sun's glare was harsh and made it impossible to see the street lights as they changed. The clear sky promised a cold night.
We had a girl friend over for dinner. Last year I danced with Jesi at least once a week for months, first creating and then practicing a choreography, which we performed as a trio. The third dancer has since moved to Paris, and we miss her, and talked about making a trip to see her next year.
Jesi is learning how to tattoo but says if she ever gets a tattoo on her own skin it'll be someplace she can't see it. We played with veils and rhythms and danced around the floor. Jesi is one of those tall thin long-limbed soft-featured women with long auburn hair and dark brown eyes. I think she must be six feet tall, and she's soft-spoken and bohemian and graceful, and has broken more than a few hearts.
She says she's been a social butterfly lately with her gay "boyfriend" (she makes the little quote marks with her fingers in the air) who is also her neighbor and her supervisor where she works at the grungy downtown concert hall that caters to reggae and punk rock. He took her to a gay bar when she turned 21 last month and she "got to dance with the best looking men, who were all great dancers because, you know, they're gay."
It was good to see her and fun to dance, if only for a short while, with her.
And I've been thinking.
Sunlight refracted against the wings, clear with fine black veining, intricate and so very delicate. The body is metallic black with a white tail, silvery and iridescent in the angular sunlight. Can we see through dragonfly eyes, a million facets, how many different worlds possible? This world here is no separate reality, it is real. I sat thinking about you, and wondering about what events have shaped your life and about where you are now, and where you aren't, and why it seems that personalities in this great empty echoing void HELLOOOOO-hello-hello of electricity seem so real. We know and yet we don't know the faces behind the faces. I see you. And you. And you. I see you and wonder if you had good dreams and slept well last night. I think about the books you might be reading. I wonder if you write the thoughts you really have, or if it's another facade. I see you and you see me. Together we can see a thousand dreams.
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