2.2.01

Tonight walking the long walk from the bus stop fingers of a storm caught up my hair and poked through the loosely knit sweater. Then the sky spat occasional but deliberate raindrops, from which I fled over the crest of the hill—looking west toward the complacent downtown edifice, its back turned, so I turned too—for home. Once there, stepped into the darkened room to catch shards of moisture stuck in the window and reflecting the pale orange light from the streetlamp below, to hear them all tap at once like a thousand pins on linoleum, to be safe inside. I woke to a clear morning after a mountain snow. Out the window above my desk a piece of Jupiter was buried in the accumulation and the mountain leapt from its obscurity to the fore. And I thought, I haven't seen the mountains in a long time. Maybe it's because they aren't visible from here but for the occasional peek at dawn or sunset. To be fair, I haven't sought them from the shoreline. I say its because I don't own a car and the climate disallows evening bike rides along the water. But the truth is, I've no desire to race for the edge to gaze up at dreams and memories. When I lived a few blocks down the hill for a short time, that magical time, the mountains spread ultimately from the height of the rooftop deck, or through wide windows when evening's breeze brushed my cheeks and toes with the lavender and gold that burned in the west. Every night went like that, even after long into conversation, when I'd look beyond to discover yonder ridges still holding up the sky. For some time each study of the mountain range was a search for just another of those moments but found it never was. Often I walk to work, a forty-five minute walk, much of it toward the big mountain, the one separated lovers versify for comfort. "Have you seen the mountain just now?" one writes. The other, "Oh yes, I can see the texture of every promontory from here." I hardly look at it now, even when I'm walking toward it. But lying in bed at night just as I've slipped beneath the covers, cool against my skin, I can watch the moon traverse my window. I find this one of the most beautiful serendipities, that I inhabit a place where moonlight covers me while I sleep.

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