Telling: Streams & Logs


I am here

Here I find is not a where but a what and a how...

Hardwood and sweat streams and dog pants and sunscreen tingle on the tender verges. Moss on roof slopes and the ragged edge of asphalt. Cars on lawns. Swingset unmoving. The roadkill that was possum, such a convincing performance.

Purple car with the tombstone memorial painted on the hood, presenting. As if to say: Death happens here. And I believe it.

Big dog on a makeshift chain, one leash tied to the next, dragging along the concrete as he hurdles towards us asking for faith in the catch which finally comes.

I am here.