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My Mental Milkcrate Posts

Half-written

I have crisped under hot skies and I’m ready for the cooling. August isn’t even half done, but my summer is on the downswing. I have started to notice that the daylight is less: the sun is finally exhaling after weeks of holding its breath. I am deeply aware of the twilight tonight. I am deep in the twilight.

A young Old Man reminded me (inadvertently and impersonally) that a song that must be written if you can hear it, and must be shared if it’s your heart. So I picked up my guitar again and waited for my throat to catch. I am deeply aware of the twilight tonight. And all that’s missing here are the fireflies and the firelight and maybe your face. I am deep in the twilight.

Sleep is walking back to me, washing under me, and tickling my feet. I’m ankles deep in heartbeats that fell from my memories. And we wandered open and wide to the sound of a lazy brown river meandering over the ground. I am deeply aware of the twilight tonight. And your kisses are here in the candlelight. I am deep in the twilight.

Coming home

The distance between home and home is 7,300 kilometres (give or take), and miles morph into minutes en route to hours per heartbeat. Chronology blurs and winds like the road at the top of a canyon during a rainstorm. Seconds cascade in silt-saturated rivulets over sandstone outcrops. Halfway has no meaning. Our breath takes its place in shape of lithology. We have raced across landscapes to arrive in this evening with grasshoppers scraping monumental sonatas.