Dream Land
Nov. 22nd, 2004 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonRain, fog and darkness at the break of noon. It's like the world won't wake up today, it can't focus on the details and look over there... right off the bridge on Johnson Ferry road you can see that the city skylines disappeared... sunken under the clouds like amnesia memories drifting across the soft mist, wondering lost and waiting desperatly to be remembered. Underneath the bridge the cars swim across 85 N and drown into the wide banks of the vanishing gray. A world of neither sun nor horizons, a world of escaped dreams from which none of us have yet awakened.
The rain falls from every direction at once, but I don't hurry. It finally feels like November to me, like the seasons have had a changing of the guards. I can't help but smile and watch deep red leaves suicide plunge off maple trees and flooding me with some lost bitter sweet memory. I know what it is though. It's that magick time of the year between the goblin dance of Halloween and the hearth fire family feel of Thanksgiving dinner- where a phantom nostalgia settles across the bones, where a childhood longing echos back across busy years your lost wishes, where the hurried foot splashes across eternal puddles and fallen foliage of a perpetual Autumn.
I'm terribly late and I arrive at work wet & quiet. A ghost man. I clock in - no one sees me. I punch in codes and passwords on little windows that open like flowers across my monitor screen - no one notices me. Invisibly I get my coffee and invisibly I look for the light at the end of the Carpal Tunnel. The humidity hums a dull pain in my fractured wrist while I play the keyboard like a drum, but outside the wind blows a sleepwalker lulaby across the dreamland.
I don't have to wait to go back out there.
The truth is I never came in.
The rain falls from every direction at once, but I don't hurry. It finally feels like November to me, like the seasons have had a changing of the guards. I can't help but smile and watch deep red leaves suicide plunge off maple trees and flooding me with some lost bitter sweet memory. I know what it is though. It's that magick time of the year between the goblin dance of Halloween and the hearth fire family feel of Thanksgiving dinner- where a phantom nostalgia settles across the bones, where a childhood longing echos back across busy years your lost wishes, where the hurried foot splashes across eternal puddles and fallen foliage of a perpetual Autumn.
I'm terribly late and I arrive at work wet & quiet. A ghost man. I clock in - no one sees me. I punch in codes and passwords on little windows that open like flowers across my monitor screen - no one notices me. Invisibly I get my coffee and invisibly I look for the light at the end of the Carpal Tunnel. The humidity hums a dull pain in my fractured wrist while I play the keyboard like a drum, but outside the wind blows a sleepwalker lulaby across the dreamland.
I don't have to wait to go back out there.
The truth is I never came in.