2020年10月5日 星期一

Sights


S U N R I S E     T E S N U S

Tossing and turning, turning and tossing...

Eyes open in a room. Sunlight filtered through an old red curtain. A white wall where my wife just was.

Walking down cracked marble stairs between flaking paint. Cats scatter before me. Going 

D                    D
O               O
W          W
N     N

Until a left takes me into the kitchen.  The canned cat food is in the white plastic container; the dry cat food is in another white plastic container.  I mix the two kinds of cat food together as my cats meow back and forth.

I'm in the living room trying to wake up, with a mug full.of water in my hand. I'm lying on a sofa covered in red cloth, which is in turn covered in cat hair. I'm looking up at the blue and white clock on the wall, trying to decide how many minutes I have before I leave for work.

Outside. I slide back the metal gate as I pull my black mountain bike out onto the road. The judgmental Buddhist from two doors over says good morning. I get on my bike slowly in front of the empty lot full of farming equipment. The sun is already blazing in the sky; the mango trees shimmer in the heat.

D                    D
O               O
W          W
N     N

...the hill out of the village, through the old houses, past the still older temples, and into the midst of fruit trees that wave upward between electrical towers.

I take a right at the red light because it's early and no one cares. There's a forested ridge on my right, with farmland sloping down to my left. I see thousands of pineapples, worth a fortune to any farmer lucky or hardworking enough to sell them all.  There are small villages beyond the fields, both half empty and half full of quiet desperation.

The pineapple fields give way to planted trees.  Along a bicycle trail I turn down another highway and the 

H                    H
I                I
L          L
L     L

...extends for miles beneath me. The bicycle moves of its own volition, with glimpses of pump stations, agricultural research stations, banana plantations and even just plain old farmland, lying fallow. I dodge tiny rocks in the interest of preserving my tires, while the light at the bottom of the hill speeds up at me.

And who is it that I see?  Waving at me from across the road?  Why does he look so familiar?

I pedal to the opposite side of the highway, where I bounce down a rocky trail between farms,across a creek fouled by runoff from a poultry operation, through a graveyard left to rot, between the husklike houses and into a busier place: a noisy little town.

M I D D A Y     Y A D D I M

From a noisy little town, a busier place between the husklike houses, through a graveyard left to rot, across a creek fouled by runoff from a poultry operation, to a rocky trail where I pedal between farms to the opposite side of the highway.

And who is it that I see?  Waving at me from across the road?  Why does he look so familiar?

I dodge tiny rocks in the interest of preserving my tires, while the light at the bottom of the hill speeds away from me.  The bicycle moves of its own volition, with glimpses of plain old farmland, lying fallow, banana plantations, agricultural research stations and pump stations.  While beneath me extends the

H     H
I          I
L               L
L                    L

And along the highway I turn down a bicycle trail as the planted trees give way to pineapple fields.

There are small villages beyond the fields, both half empty and half full of desperation.  I see thousands of pineapples, worth a fortune to any farmer hardworking or lucky enough to sell them all.  There's farmland sloping down to my right, and a forested ridge to my left.  I take a left at the red light because it's late and no one cares.

Into the midst of fruit trees that wave downward between electrical towers, past the old temples, through the still older houses, on the hill into the village

D     D
O          O
W               W
N                    N

The mango trees shimmer in the heat, the sun is already blazing in the sky.  I get off my bike slowly in front of the empty lot full of farming equipment.  The judgmental Buddhist from two doors over says good evening.  Outside, I slide the metal gate open as I pull my black mountain bike into the front yard.

I'm looking at the blue and white clock on the wall, trying to decide how many hours before I fall asleep.  I'm lying on a sofa covered in cat hair, which is in turn covered in red cloth.  I'm in the living room trying not to fall asleep, with a mug full of water in my hand.

The cats meow back and forth.  I mix the two kinds of cat food together.  The dry cat food is in the white plastic container, the canned cat food is in another white plastic container.  Then I take a right up the stairs.

D     D
O          O
W               W
N                    N

Walking up cracked marble stairs between flaking paint.  Cats scattered behind me.  Going.

A white wall where my wife now is.  Moonlight filtered through an old red curtain.  Eyes closed in a room.

Turning and tossing, tossing and turning...

S U N S E T     E S I R N U S


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