a trick, a flicker of the light*
As I crawl out from under this damp rock stinking of rotting leaves and dead worms, I wonder WHY does it have to drizzle AGAIN? These overcast skies are bringing me down.
On the up side, I had breakfast yesterday with an old friend who I haven't seen in 17 years.
We laughed quite a bit but also got right down to the big questions: are you happy? how much are you faking? what things have brought you to your knees in the last 17 years? what are you trying to do with your life? why does the world work this way?
He has a partner so it absolutely wasn't a romantic thing**, but I sure am glad he's out there in the world. It's also just so great to have a friendship like this rekindle so effortlessly.
Last time I asked people about their look-alikes and evil twins, this time I'm curious about how it feels to connect with a friend after a loooooong time.
* From a Dennis Lee poem about a thing called a honkabeest from Nicolas Knock and Other People that had some lines like "a trick, a flicker of the light / the tiny creature / like a flight / of warblers / seemed to ride the air / and shed a frisky lustre there" ... I can't recall the poem exactly, but it has been taking up the limited space of my grey matter since I had to memorize it in Grade 8. Anyway, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, DENNIS LEE, a man who had a tremendous influence on my young mind:
** For the record, I make a lot of mistakes, but I never pursue other people's lovers/partners/spouses.
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I find the corners of my mind filled with lines from Peter Pan, and odd bits of Dickens. Strange....
No, no...not the douching. I followed a random assortment of links and I really like the banjo and clicked on yours last and so here I am. I luuuurve Canada. I even fell in a crevasse on the Columbian Ice Fields. So cool. I love all the Frenchified things about Canada and your big mountains and that you eat fiddlehead ferns. Don't even get me started on the bears.
Anyway, isn't it fantastic to catch up with old friends that way? You don't see them in forever and they're still so real.
Silverly, silverly, over the trees, the moon drifts by on a runaway breeze.
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