I gathered a bunch of acorns from a tree, two blocks away, dropping acorns all over the place, in the dirt, in the mud when it rained. The only tree I found, with acorns like in my imagination, acorns all over the place, leaves changing against a shocking blue sky. Carolina blue. The marching band here everyone plays in, its colors are Black and Carolina Blue. Hope blue, I said to Jonathan today- Carolina blue is Hope blue. I gathered acorns ten-deep in a canvas bag, the kind we have dozens of, now, use them for everything. It had rained and the acorns were wet, glossy like oak wood, most had lost their little caps. Beautiful. I squatted in the cold sun and picked them from the dirt, waited for assault by pack of free-range pitbull puppies, cute when they’re little, bitch hanging back, tired. Little puppies, dusty black, with fleas and cowlicked fur. Milky eyes. I took the acorns home and dried them in the oven, on a pan, tried to get a long rainy day out of them, dark. Still damp, I left them there. This morning I biked far for no reason- had to anyway but I didn’t even mind. My wrist hurt, my shoulder, I’m not used to riding a bike without a rack. Not used to carrying a backpack everywhere. I felt sort of like I did when I used to live here- like I could go in circles, like I could bike in concentric circles, getting bigger and bigger. Like I would go nowhere. Like there was nowhere I could get to from here.
On saturday I played drums in the shortest parade. The very shortest parade, I do believe, ever. And afterwards we had lunch- the very longest lunch. We were in a small town that is really an old mill, in the sort of rolling country between here and there. If I told you the name it wouldn’t matter, you’d think I made it up. In the old mill of this very small town in the rolling country between here and there, I ate for lunch a dish of local pork loin, cooked in local onions and peppers, and served with homefries made from local potatoes, if you can believe it. My band-mates looked on in envy, eating their quiche and sandwiches made from fresh mozzarella made that very day behind the counter in the little store in the very smallest town. I got the best lunch, because it was the only gluten free thing.
And tonight, tonight I saw my friend- she is about to have a baby. She is so close, it’s like she’s got a watermelon under her dress. An unlikely romance, friends fall in love and have a baby. Sort of incredible. And now I’m going to bike in the new fall cold, to a bonfire at a friend’s. And we’re going to play The Village, a fun game.
And it’s cold here, but not as cold as everywhere else.
And I leave you with that.