Mar. 1st, 2002 06:50 am
gurdonark: (abstract butterfly)
I've noticed that even when my work load is not stressful,
I still really look forward to the weekend. I remember when I was younger, and had to work longer hours.
A weekend movie, a Sunday morning drive (Prairie Home companion, little rural prairie backroads past decaying churches and rustic fallen small barns) was like the ultimate luxury. Now, I push myself a little less hard,
but the weekend seems just as welcome. My wife's going to San Antonio to visit some friends in town from CA, so I've got to entertain myself. I'll do some Mandatory Continuing Legal Education on the 'net, and fly a new kite I bought for 3 dollars at Dollar General. It's also time to do some writing. I don't ever get writer's block, because you have to have the feeling that you can write talented stuff before you worry that what you write won't be. I know my poetry is very talent-shy, so I don't have writer's block, I merely have good old procrastinator's project-starting block. But once I begin, it will flow from me like the picture of water rushing in a drainage ditch I sent off to someone recently. Perhaps Heaven is a 20 dollar bill in pocket, a kite in hand, twenty five pages of bad poetry on screen, and a good night's sleep.


Feb. 24th, 2002 04:12 pm
gurdonark: (abstract butterfly)
A dollar store kite with tropical fish
Red twine from Wal Mart spun around a plastic spool;
Little suburb pocket park, flat, firehouse before,
suburb behind.
I tied on the the string and let it go.

The kite flew like a character in a movie--
it left my hands and reached the sky in seconds flat;
I heard myself chuckle a deep pleased chuckle,
like preteens do, when things are better than television.

My kite soared and twine spun out, while the man next to me and his toddler daughter coped with high wind on a traditional kite.
"She doesn't care how well it flies", he said to me,
"as long as it goes this high". He gestured to her kite,
struggling at ten feet off the ground.
"She got it free at her school".

"I paid a dollar for mine", and that moment I felt as though that
dollar was the most valuable dollar I ever spent in my life.

The kite turned. It plummeted down.
I reeled in line. It came up again.

The kite turned again. It plummeted down.
I reeled in line. It plummeted down further.

Soon the kite found the only tree in the only backyard with a
tree in the whole tract home neighborhood, the sort of tree
that the tree farmer brings in and plants when folks move in,
because all the trees that preceded the tract are long ago cut down.

I reeled in red line.
The nice man with the toddler said "kite-eating tree", just like on television. I pulled the line in, and then I cut the line.
The kite adorned the tree.

I felt myself chuckle that deep chuckle, the kind of chuckle that preteens make when they grow up and remember their kites.


gurdonark: (Default)

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