Thanksgiving
Sitting in a chaise lounge on the deck of the bunk house. Pleasant notes from Louis Armstrong and Norah Jones float from the small radio on the railing. Sun on my face. Want to write something. Peaceful. Sleepy. Golden leaves in heaps on the ground. Golden thoughts. Warm, golden air. Small breeze rustling through leaves. Distant sounds of children. Car pulls up with pleasant people. Life is golden.
Inspiration takes time. Time, peace, rest. Silence. In silence inspiration grows. Quiet silence. Peaceful, quiet time. Brown smell of earth and leaves. Golden smell. Scent of gold. Quiet voices. Peaceful conversation. Trees. Shadows. Rustling leaves. So sweet. So pleasant. So golden.
Bond. Casino Royale. Daniel Craig’s Bond is masculine, brutish and elegant all at the same time. Know all those Bond girls? Well, before all those, turns out there was a Bond woman. Smart, sophisticated, lovely. Not girl. Decidedly woman. After she stole his heart, he gave her what was left of his soul. And then she died and his heart and soul died with her, never to be captured again. Leaving him the cold, detached and calculating man he became. More polished, yes. Charming to the hilt. But less human.
Pang! Gunshot. Piercing the silence. Again! Echo rolls through the valley and back. Strange, round bug crawling on my jeans. I brush it off. Laughter. Distant laughter and voices. Bits of conversation floating across my ears. Pang! Pang! Someone target practicing. Upsetting the silence.
Again, silence takes over. Snoring by Michael. In the loft with window open. Sun still golden on my face but shadows longer. Footsteps in leaves. Crunch. Crunch. Birds chirp. Water swishing in pewter basin. Kay: “Jim’s going coon hunting tonight.” Jeanie: “How can you go squirrel hunting at night?” “Coon hunting.” “Oh, coon hunting.” Michael humming now. Humming like a lion. Hums when he feels happy. Happy hum. Golden hum.
