Friday, November 4, 2011

Their Own Electricity . . .

On this barely sunny morning i was dazzled by a spear of light from a black man’s gold tooth as he smiled and strided up Churton Street against the traffic . . .

After the sun came, it went, and the sky filled with wet asphalt clouds and in the woods we couldn’t quite believe our eyes -- the river was filled with rushing water once again after months of drought and the trees with their remaining leaves glowed in the weirdest lime green . . . the scarlet maples and the ochre poplars were put to shame by the leaves that had remained green into this first week of November, it was as though they were injected with phosphorescence and they blinded us with this light that seemed to have been saved from the brightest summer day for this stormy morning.

Following two yellow school buses, i rounded the corner near the water treatment plant and was caught up in the slightly hysterical gate of a skinny man in his navy pajamas with white horizontal stripes . . . he was barefooted and looked as though he had escaped from somewhere, but i saw him stop to open a mailbox and finding it empty, he left the little door ajar and he dashed wildly back under a deep green cedar toward a crooked mobile home with a grey door.

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