Plans for Departure

This feels like the worst place one could possibly be, with a food riot on the front steps, birds suffering from the shits in the yard, a side door that requires a sign explaining how to open it. I’m leaving for. . . I don’t know where. Maybe somewhere empty space longs to be touched. You can come if you wish. I can’t promise there’ll be roads and buildings made of spider silk or that lakes will gently bubble to the dreams of sleeping fish, but light will reach us even a million years after the light has gone out.

Omens

Sorting through an unmarried aunt’s things after she passed away, I started to see how unimportant everything is. One talkative lawyer attracted others like him. A sculptor carved the scene on a granite gravestone. Shortly afterwards, I moved to Florida to escape winter. I slipped in without the dogs going crazy. Life there felt a lot like life elsewhere – hours of boredom punctuated by moments of terror. If you listened, you could hear somber water flowing. I sat on the bed listening until my clothes were just rags.