By Ira Sadoff
Ultimately the air
Is bare sunlight where must be found
The lyric valuables
—George Oppen
A few surprising turns follow us everywhere.
I was shopping for something to replace
what I once felt. Weren’t there buildings there
where we once lived, fully furnished
and looking out on the sea? Didn’t we distill
from neighbors the necessary codes
and gestures? At the core we were all traipse
and meander, governed by fill in the blank.
But it was here, the ramshackle Cape Cod
with rattling shutters eaten away
then revived, mended and painted over.
It takes just a scent of sea spray
to bring back the once was: skimpy,
the bikini, the beach, the conversation,
the veil of summer, skimpy the engine
that chugs toward love, skimpy the cover
of the universe. Thanks to this fragrance
we can sit under our favorite cedar,
or picture the old dreaded barber shop.
Now I want my hair touched, and my cheek.
I want the salt rubbed out with a handkerchief.
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Everyone here slept late -- Maddy because she stayed up all night watching Gilmore Girls, the rest of us because we stayed up not-quite-so-late watching Westworld. Then we had lunch, took a walk, and went to the mall to see Doctor Strange -- a nightmare to get to given the state of the Black Friday parking lot, but just as enjoyable the second time, and Daniel and Adam are better versed in Infinity Stones than I am.
We had Thanksgiving seconds with my parents and watched some football, then came home for more Westworld while everyone caught up on email, homework, etc. (plus we watched some Arizona-Arizona State while people were in the shower). Maddy has worked very long hours this week and got off an hour late tonight. I didn't take any photos today, so here are some from last July at Great Falls of this spring's goslings:
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