A persistent rain at dawn. I sit in the garage staring at an incomprehensible world. Cowboy Junkies sneaks through the screen door and all of sudden it's easy to remember – my bedroom floor, studio headphones, a boy who wrote lyrics for the band. Quiet passion with a loud guitar. No need to return.
And also there was that boy who had to have me. In the lake. During the day. One year or 30, it's the same. Women work the land as if it might someday give us something whole and healthy. Yet we exist as what, helper to man? Your Bible, your Cain and Abel. Please write another story. Christ as a bird, maybe?
After a few storms, the rain moves east but leaves behind a thick, soggy air. The smell of wet earth, onions and Lake Michigan is invaded by too many mosquitoes. They land, bite and repeat as I cut the grass. Afterwards, dinner. Potato leek soup, salad and lemon bars.
Am I built to last?