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The tapping like the beat of a failing heart slows to a halt. "Next Stop Westport!" Jolting to a halt head dizzy from the shaking writing shaking stopping shaking breaking the silence along the tracks and then it's gone. "Next Stop South Norwalk!" Clicks and pops under feet. Giant trestles bend and give just a little under the weight. "Next Stop Rowayton!" New passengers every stop and old ones getting off. His accent different from the one before. A couple this time. Questions answers questions thoughts as the door between the cars opens with a sudden racket of the rails. "Next Stop Darien!" Financial chatter dinner talk reminiscing friendly walks internal dialogue drones on. The sun it draws closer to the water as lights come on in windows passing far and alarm bells ring when the doors shut closed. "Next Stop Noroton Heights!" Criss-crossing streets with headlights shining crossing under bridges below. Above the trees the daylight slows blowing clouds turning in for the night. "Next Stop Stamford!" Reflections in the windows bring scenes to life from both sides at once. Silhouettes dancing from right to left in the waning sky. The fading signs of graffiti look like dancing cave drawings in this light, dancing along our way to the city. "Next Stop Greenwich!" Incandescent lights light driveways overlooking train tracks, bridges, over passes under trestles. "What time do we get into the city?" Startled from my awakened slumber. "Next Stop Harlem onto Grand Central"  Blinky lights flicker as strings render chords Bridging the break from the 1st to the 4th 7ths and 9ths bring tension resolved When released from the grasp of suspended tones   As the grit and gravel spread out before me
The fallen limbs befitted with moss The northern breeze unsettled the branches That formed the arbor under which I crossed With bark lined walls befallen with debris The turn up ahead towards the water’s edge Could take the ground from under your feet Turn grit to plank over the waterfall’s crest The impervious rumble over rocks so smooth Down the bank towards the weathered ‘stead Through stitches of roots like saplings’ feet Would cause a near tumble of foot over head On a path full of grit and gravel I tread Towards my own haven, evermore I’ve been led It was the night before last
that I stepped into the kitchen I'm thirsty I thought and my mind I've got a stitch in Racing for the fridge at a pace no one's beatin' fill my belly with ale I should get something to eat then Much to my chagrin that's the last clang I'll hear now The fridge is but dry when it comes to the beer stow What a fool lost his plunder 'cause his mind was but under the foley once asunder the vale the week's blunder Fat tire's the choice Not a bike but a brew a delicious new belgium styled ale to chew Not chewy like most but delicious to boast or toast with a glass in your hand to the host I could keep on going but the toffee's not done toffee for banoffee will be had 'til there's none The fridge wins again in it's quest for glory this silly old tale could be told as a story at bedtime for children but not about ale as little kids aren't ready for this little tale I could see the skeletal shadow of the trees tonight
As the moon shone with an awesome air of light so bright. Reflecting off the snow the dark hue shone through Moving, swaying like waltzing crooked fingers urging you to come closer. Drifts of snow shifted under the weight of the wind While the light wanes and fades into black. A pine bough lopped from the main branch Dragged through the snow Leaving green prickly bread crumbs Almost begging for new life as a wreath. Bedtime calls when the moon is at its summit Drawing the covers up to your chin like the water to the shore. Goodnight wolf moon. |
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February 2020
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