Sunday, September 25, 2011
Through No Glass Darkly
It is nearly dusk. I lift my glasses like kicking a pair of tight shoes off at the end of a day. My face feels the same relief as my feet, suddenly light and unencumbered. As I lift my eyes my world becomes a Monet painting. Blurred edges and radiating light. Clumps of color and texture forming images that are recognizable but indistinct. Detail fades into light and shade. Green and greener, brown and black the oak tree limbs in their frozen game of Twister. I notice constant movement traversing the trunks. The traffic of chattering housewives stocking up for their families. A question mark standing out against a patch of blue light. The fig rustles in the wind like a dust mop shaken on a back porch. A flash of red, I know it by it's size and vibrance. No need to wait for the staccato tapping on a knot hole. Another red flash that appears to be the same size but closer in. I know this too. I don't need to see it's partner almost blended away in a a patch of dirt, a blob on the grass, to know it's species. A swooping flash of gray could be anything. But I know it by it's mocking shouts of warning. I search the ground to find the danger. A patch of color that does not grow in the garden. I find the golden victim of this outrage glowing motionless in the sun. There. Though the stripes cannot be ascertained and the tail wrapped neatly at the base does not twitch to give it away I know what it is, I think. It might just be a jug of chlorine forgotten beside the pool.
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