Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Benevolence : Ideality : Conscientiousness

The witching hour as the crescent moon rises and the crickets work on harmonies and it becomes impossible to distinguish the memory of what might have been from the memory of what was from the memory of what is still to come from the shifting of patterns and silhouettes half revealed by fading light. The water laps against the piers as the boat rocks and settles into the waves, the beer finished among tales of lost loves and forgotten memories and bridges to the future where the fish will always taste of the warmth of a late summer afternoon.
Passengers and friends rotate around the little boat to make room for the ghosts, who do not tell their tales but emanate the memory of the intensity of lives lived and worlds left behind, unchanged by the future. From the shore a fire sparks in a barrel, night vendors of kebabs and hot dogs and the pleasures of the flesh remain open for business, the wind shifts and clouds dance around the stars, obscuring the wings of Pegasus, the arm of Orion, filling the basket of the Big Dipper. The ghosts huddle closer for warmth, inhaling the vapor of the fish and the beer, becoming flesh through the stories of memories. The moon illuminates the clouds, and suddenly it is tomorrow.

Fowler's is the source of both a head schematic and a language schematic. Who could ask for anything more?

final boozy Sunday mountaintop picnics, giddy descents at twilight
first experiments with cobbler