The dark chevrons of morning birds drop and vault at
the edge of the arroyo near my home. I
catch glimpses of them from the windows of my home as I sit drinking my morning
coffee. I am listening to Seven Mary
Three and the Stone Temple Pilots on my stereo.
A year ago, I stopped watching the morning news. No more of that.
When I was a small child I imagined that I was born
a hollow sphere. Life, I further imagined,
was the process of filling the sphere with memories and ideas.
I started with ideas first. I would become a great Archeologist and
travel to Egypt to sweep sands away from history. I would collect a sample of every stone and
insect. I would invent a way to stop
the wind from blowing. I would wear the
same blue jacket from cradle to grave.
Soon, memories began to fill me. Toy trucks to real ones. Building this home. Climbing mountains. Learning the names of plants. The certain memories of long-time friends and
loved ones vaulting up through me like the birds outside my home.
And the birds outside are just now turning the colors
of new flowers as they cross through the fingers of sunrise light reaching into
our mountain valley.
Some of the colors are yet to be named.
--Mitchell
Hegman
No comments:
Post a Comment