RUDIMENTS, pt.1321
(the emperor of nothing at all)
Crops don't grow in the dark; the
nutrients from sunlight are essentials
You're not going to find rows of corn
plants, or even a pumpkin patch or a
sunflower garden along Cortese Road.
Remember that next time you're there.
-
Maybe it's a settled place of darkness,;
some people are OK with that. As I write
this from my own vista - more a highland
that looks down over water and trees, I see
morning's light, with its loom for layered
frost and fog separating into layers. It's
always different, and always changing
- light and fog wrangle with each other,
the sunlight burning off the fog, always
recalcitrant to leave, clinging to trunks
and tree tops, waiting for another ten
minutes to hang on, to linger. It's good
like that - the Autumnal colors get
exaggerated by the play of light and
frost. Interesting morning, as much are
the early mornings of Spring interesting.
-
I've always bounced from one emotion
to the next - in my life, I never cared.
I wanted to experience a lot of things -
ten-minute emotional affairs with most
everyone I saw. I liked talking with people,
to bring them out, and to bring me in. In the
same way I met Jack Stove, I met numerous
others - outside of stores, next to broken
down cars, hanging around idle, involved
in a scene of their own. If you dig a little,
no one's really a closed book. Every moment
in life - even the most miserable ones
I'm now undergoing - are living pictures.
Vignettes of the understory of what
makes up life. Hidden carnivals or
funereal processions.
-
I think it's safe to say I've aged out of a
good life, and now it's just a bum deal -
lingering about, and waiting for demise.
Outside the Thrift Store, the guy who
bought a large cabinet has no way to get
it home. What was he thinking? I don't
know, but I offered. It would have been
criminal if I had not. 'How far you got to
go?' I asked. 'About 7 miles,' he said.
'C'mon, let's put it in the truck and I'll
get you home.' All went well, and the
task was concluded. A shake and a hi
and a bye! Life's good like that.
-
The wife says 'Never pick up a hitchhiker
when I'm in the car. I don't care what you
do on your own.' On the rural roads I see
guys, usually the same 4 or 5, each
separately, with their thumbs out, just
rolling the hilly road, for something
between Narrowsburg and, maybe,
Beach Lake or Honesdale. A 12mile
scrap, maybe. It's like I get to know
their faces, but just from passing them.
That's a bummer, and I get distressed.
These guys are in need of something,
and I've got the wheels. The days of
hitchhiker horror stories are over, in
my opinion. I'd love to hear what's up.
-
Cortese Road is a shade spot. There's
a supermarket over in Honesdale that's
a light spot. All the people are mostly
always the same, busy with things,
interesting and talkative. I'm met a
few cool people there - the kind of
friendships that you talk through, not
so much 'doing' things. Like park bums
or loiterer, the gift is the presence and
the 'what 'cha doing now' thing. The
girl there named Swamp-Ass, my cool
friend Randy, the owner named Dave,
and his wife. The cart guys and the
clerks. Everybody's old-school and
throwback - deliberate characters in
a fast-paced world; they stumble here
and there, but then who doesn't. These
are the sorts of folks America once
served; Now they just get run-down
by 18-wheelers.
-
There's really little left of America,
by its own definition of itself. Once,
from a long time back. The transformation
has been brutal, and mostly unjustifiable.
Streamlined capacities for industrial
production - I suppose. 88 kinds of
paper towels, 90 brands of toilet paper,
14 layers of cleansers and grease cutters,
weed-killers and 750 different kinds
of killer-sugar snacks, peddled without
conscience and stroked without shame.
-
Why we got to that point, I'll never know?
It certainly isn't wooded, forested, and
green, and it certainly isn't rural, nor is
it Cortese Road. What little left zi have
to hang on is fast disappearing, and I
guess I'll never know that either.
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