“Tastes” – The grass didn’t taste as sweet this morning. I think it is because of last night’s pie. I suppose flavors eat each other like one sound eats another. I wonder if a donkey doesn’t taste as good to a deer tick after a deer tick has tasted a deer?
Month: June 2016
“Morton’s Pond” (XX)
“Smells” – Bonny and Pablo made a pumpkin pie. I could smell it from the other side of the lake. I walked to their cabin to tell them I could smell the pie, and they offered me a slice.
“Morton’s Pond” (XIX)
“Sounds” – Another day with Pablo. Listening to him talk to me and listening to me talk to him. I could also hear Bonny and Ditto by the lake. I think they were painting because I could smell the paint. There were large patches of silence between the words they were saying. Or maybe the patches of silence were when I was listening to Pablo or myself talk.
“Morton’s Pond” (XVIII)
“Sounds” – The echo of an axe. Pablo. I helped him stack wood in the shed behind his cabin. He said I should gather some.
“Blurtso hears a whisper” (XI)
Harlan? said Blurtso. Yes? said Harlan. Do you ever get frightened? Frightened? said Harlan. Yes, said Blurtso. Sometimes, said Harlan. Why? said Blurtso. Well, said Harlan, when you consider how fragile things are–life, love, happiness–and how they’re certain to vanish, and the nothingness that follows, it’s natural to be frightened… but you can still be optimistic. You can? said Blurtso. Sure, said Harlan, we still have a tin of chocolate, and plenty of whipped cream.
“Ditto finds a pencil” (III)
Where’s your pencil? said Virginia. I left it at home, said Ditto. What about the museum, said Virginia, and the tourists and audio phones? I’m not going to do it, said Ditto. Why? said Virginia. I like Concord the way it is. Yes, said Virginia, the library, the cemetery, the inn, and the friendly people at the Main Street Café—it’s a nice town, and more traffic might spoil it. Yes, said Ditto, and encourage someone to put a stop light on Main Street.
“Morton’s Pond” (XVII)
“Tastes” – Thinking about eating. Me eating grass. Clouds eating colors. Sounds eating sounds and ticks eating me… even thoughts eating thoughts. Everything a big circle of eating.
“Morton’s Pond” (XVI)
“Sounds” – My breath. Panting as I propped up the walls of my shelter. I didn’t even hear the train to Concord because I was so focused on building. You can only hear what you happen to be listening to, or else the sound of building ate up the sound of the train.
“Morton’s Pond” (XV)
“Sights”: My home in ruins. Blown to the ground by last night’s storm. No more cracks where the wind made noise. No more shade. No shelter. Just a heap of boards. And the wet ground.
“Morton’s Pond” (XIV)
“Smells” – Rain on the wind. Another storm approaching. And something I don’t recognize. Possibly the smell of a deer tick. But I’ve never smelled a deer tick before, so I can’t be sure. I suppose you can’t be sure of what you’re smelling until you are.