Sketches - 41 (October 25th, 2014)

41.

The Ramshackle House,

like a big old boat sailing and

rocking steadily through tides

of weather fronts, footfalls over

its half a million various

splinters, sometimes I’m singing out

shocks of whole songs behind

its water stained windows.  

I’m wearing the same dirty weathered

green ‘scrub’ bottoms I’ve

had on for days now -

wife Ash is off west of

midtown calling on her grandfather

after last night’s memorial

service for his wife.

I woke up from a nap

in our second story bed

room - its the only room

in the ramshackle house

with windows paneling

off the south east

corner and could see the

sun gleaming from it’s decent

in the west onto the window’s

old thin wood window frames,

that ancient orange/red

color cast on to the faded

paint chipped white of the

ramshackle house’s original

coat of 1930’s paint.  The

hue of such a setting sun

is the color of invitation, an

invitation to keep moving

            and moving.

The setting sun itself, an

         invitation, specifically

created for Nomads and lost

children to wander into.

(October 25th, 2014)

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