thestagingarea.com

This weekend was filled with ghosts. This is the ghost on our door. The sign, the sign mentioned in my last post that alerts kiddies and their parents that Trick-or-Treating is allowed. I dug into my big chest of arts and crafts materials (what? doesn’t everybody have one of those?) and pulled out some plaster cloth that’s been waiting for a purpose.

And the quinces from my rant about Martha? Yes, they are still sitting around, still pretty green, not yellow… Bitch. Anyway, I found a use for one of them. I needed a stand to hold the armature for my ghost. I took a quince, stuck five toothpicks in it to make it stable on the table and then I inserted one end of a shish-ka-bob skewer into it. Part way up (and I’m going in to all this should you find yourself with an errant green quince and a roll of plaster cloth, both of which have been taunting you with their inertia; now you can give them a purpose – I have saved the day), after fashioning it into a long triple loop to give it strength and also form at the ends, I wrapped some copper wire.

So far, we have a pentad-ed quince with a skewer protruding from its top with a copper armature one third of the way down, like a cross for some bizarre religion, worshipping… I have no idea. Grilling and electrical repair?

I needed a lovely, proportional head shape. And there in the refrigerator it was: a slightly shrivelled lime. Plop on the top of the skewer it went.

From there, it was simply a matter of wetting the plaster cloth and draping it spookily on the armature. Et voila! A lovely ghost, which stayed there drying over night.

Today, I carefully slid the lime and the copper armature off the skewer, then even more carefully pried the lime from under the plaster. It worked, the head did not nod forward: no one likes a sleepy ghost. I took a magnet from the fridge and stuck the little fella to the front door. So far, so good; it’s lasted the day.

But that was the least of the ghosts filling my weekend. Ghosts don’t need to be ethereal, sometimes people and places can be as haunting as any unnatural presence. Sometimes your past can be the ether you drift in to. And sometimes that’s not such a bad thing. Sometimes a walk through that mist is just what you need to clear your head.

After work on Friday, a particularly trying day, I met Jamie for dinner and a show. It had been quite some time since we had had a Midtown rendezvous, much too long.

We met at Le Madeleine, an excellent restaurant next to the Westside Theatre where I worked for many years before moving to my present job. As we sat at the bar, drinking and having dinner, we re-connected with old friends and acquintances from the nabe. I popped next door and ran into two of my former co-workers. It was nice to be there, in Midtown.

After dessert, before coffee, I went outside to, well, smoke. More about that later. But, as I stood there, under the Le Madeleine canopy as the rain fell, I realized that in the four years I’ve been in my present job, I’ve never felt at home; I’ve always felt as though I’m spending my time in some odd, foreign world, and that’s just the neighborhood. Now, there’s nothing strange about the Flatiron area, in fact, it’s quite lovely. It’s just never felt like, me.

So then we went to the show, The Farnsworth Invention written by Aaron Sorkin. I love his writing. Some people don’t. Some people think he is too wordy. I love his wordy-ness, as does Jamie. We loved the play. Briefly it’s the story of the battle between Philo T. Farnsworth and David Sarnoff. Between them, they created TV as we know it, the box, not the programming. A wonderfully written, powerful piece of theatre; I recommend it highly.

And there, another ghost, no not Allison Janney, although she was at the theatre, no, Kelly Martindale. There she was in the Playbill. A stage manager that I adore. She was the stage manager on Hedwig…. Beyond being a wonderful stage manager, she’s just a really, really nice person. The type of person who makes you smile no matter how crappy your day is; treasure those people. She deserves all the success she attains, cheers to her!

We had arranged to meet up after the show with a friend I hadn’t seen in ages. We worked together at the Westside. So there we sat, catching up and generally having a great time chewing the fat. It was lovely to see him, much too much time had passed.

After we said our goodnights to him, Jamie and I decided to pop down the block to the place where our friend Stephen hangs out. Sure enough, though close to closing time, there he was. And so we closed down that place and moved on with Stephen to close down another.

We wound up at Don’t Tell Mama, a piano bar where I spent way too much time many years ago. Again, saw many people I hadn’t seen in a long while. And being there always brings up memories of my late friend, Bob, who played piano there for many years. He’s been gone now for years and I still miss him. A lot. Some people leave this life much too early.

And last call came and went and then we said g’nite to Stephen and promised to not let so much time pass between get-togethers. It was quarter to four in the old AM and we cabbed home.

The people you value in your life shouldn’t become ghosts. Sometimes, as with Bob, they must; they can only live in our memorys and our hearts. But those people who are still here, still very accessible, we often let our lives drift apart, waving through the mist of “too busy” or “I should call sometime”; we shouldn’t let those connections go away, break. We need to recognize when the past is a good thing to let go of, and when letting go is losing something precious: friendship.

The ghosts of the weekend have been made flesh again. They’ve reminded me of a part of myself I had lost, or rather ignored. I think changes are in the wind.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Jamie, Life, NYC, Theatre by Kirk
1 Comment »

Looking forward to it.

In all my previous apartments, I’ve always prepared, ready with treats for the trick-or-treating kiddies. Never had any. That’s why I always pick candy that I like. I always wind up eating it. I’m not complaining.

But this year, I think it will be different. I think, here in the Co-op, where we have a good number of kids, that we’ll get some ghoulies and ghosties at our door.

Today, I learned the secret sign. The sign of invitation. Perhaps the lack of it is why we’ve had no Halloweenian rapping at our door in years past. We have never decorated our door.

My dear, darlin’ Nathalie informed me that door decor is the code that alerts parents that your home is Trick-or-Treat-able. Who knew? It does make sense when you think about it. I can understand that parents wouldn’t feel comfortable walking the halls, ringing unknown doorbells, unbidden. Cold calling for candy, as it were.

Strange as it may seem, this is the first place I’ve lived since I moved to NYC, oh those 20ish years ago, where I’ve actually been acquainted with my neighbors, not just the ones down the hall, but throughout the building. In NYC, we’re all crammed together, door to door, floor upon floor, and it is a rare occasion when you even know the name of the person who lives next door, let alone speak to them.

I suppose that this is the difference between a rental space and an owned space. In a Co-op, where we all depend on each other to support the success, the life, of the building, there is more investment in knowing your neighbors. This can be a good thing, this can be a bad thing. In Jamie and my case, in our new home, so far, and I don’t see this changing, it’s a very good thing. I find it comforting.

As I think about it, I guess the “knowing” of one’s neighbors is not as typical as it once was, and now, I’m including suburbia in that general net. Lives have become busier. People have become more protective of… well, themselves; their time, their lives. My parents used to know everyone on their block. They still know a fair amount of their neighbors, but in the years since I’ve moved away, the neighborhood has changed, become more… transient? People move. Homes that were once owner occupied have now become rentals. Of the 17 homes on my parents block, there are only 3 that haven’t changed hands in the 45 years I’ve been alive, my parent’s home being one of those. It shouldn’t be, given how many times I’ve moved in my life, but it is very odd to me, that change, that move from settled to stopping off point. I guess I see my parent’s neighborhood, where I spent my first 18 years, as a place of stability. And of course, it isn’t. These days, stability is in the heart, not in the location.

And no one sits on their porch anymore.

I guess that’s why I’m hoping to have costumed visitors come a tapping, gently rapping at our chamber door. That memory of a simpler time, that autumnal, comforting timelessness. Yeah, I want to take off the insular shroud for awhile, even just for an evening, and wrap myself in a warm blanket of community.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Family, Life, NYC by Kirk
No Comments »

Well, just when you are in need of it, more often than not, a happy little giggle moment of surprise comes along.

It’s been a rough week, well, three or so weeks. Work has been tough; too much to do, not enough hours in the day even when I’m pulling 9 or more hours a pop. Sometime it not the thing, it’s the time it takes to do the thing that’s daunting. Sometimes things seem to be designed in the most convoluted way possible, as if, in giving directions to exit a room to get to the office next to you, you said, “First, knock a hole in that wall and then scale down the outside of the building, then go around the block. Come in the street level door, take the stairs, not the elevator, never the elevator, to your floor, then go to the office.” “But,” you might say, “there’s a door right there? Couldn’t I use that?” “Not our way,” you’d be told. “Not our way.”

I believe in simplicity. I suspect, if you read me rather than know me, you might find that hard to believe. I suppose I should restate: I believe in cutting through the bull. There, that’s better. I think it has something to do with nearly dying. (How’s that for a teaser?) Here’s a problem, lets find the best way of solving it. Perhaps it’s a Virgo thing. I believe in straight lines; they get you to your destination much more quickly.

Of course, that only holds true for my work life. In my “real” life, I like curves, I like the found paths, the little-used byways. They are far more interesting and fun. But at work, I don’t like to waste time; I don’t like my time wasted. Most of the time, I feel I’m doing extremely trivial things and putting out fires. I don’t feel like I’m actually accomplishing anything…worthwhile.

Ok, it’s work. Work is work. But work can be, and sometimes still is, rewarding. But not as rewarding as it has been with past jobs. I suppose that’s why I started writing again. Writing here. Not that I have anything earth-shattering to impart, I think that much is clear, but rather that I do indeed have something to impart. It gives me some small creative outlet, and, after all, the subtitle of the site is: “Built to amuse…myself”. And it does.

So tonight, I go outside to have my evening’s perambulation and upon exiting the building, I discover happy halloween decorations lining our little dead end street. A flickering pumpkin, a couple of those big, baloon-y things with lights in them, a pumpkin, a pumkin with a cat on it, etc. Stupid things. But really quite charming. Lovely that our building does that. It made me smile. And writing about it, I’m still smiling.

I suppose that’s what gets me through life, finding and treasuring those small moments that somehow move you in a positive way. I love those kinds of gifts from the cosmos. Difficult to believe if you saw me, walking down the street with my NYC, “don’t bother me” face on, but I love to smile, and laugh. It really feels good, and generally, no one does it enough.

So tomorrow, as you’re going through your day, look around and find your blow-up pumpkin. And smile.

Oh that seems a lovely way to end this, doesn’t it? But ramble on I will. One more thing to say.

J & I are off tomorrow to visit his mom in FL. It will be a nice trip, we haven’t seen her since last December.

And it will be nice to have a getaway. We’ve been so busy with the apartment this summer that we didn’t really do much else. I’m not at all complaining. I love what we did this summer. I’m proud of the work we did on the new place and even more, I’m more proud that we did the bulk of it ourselves, quite successfully and beautifully, I must add. But it will be nice to get away for a long weekend.

And we’re giving ourselves a mini-vacation within the vacation. We’re taking Friday all to ourselves. We’re spending it at EPCOT. We love Disney. We love EPCOT. So sue us; it’s great fun. And this month is the EPCOT Food and Wine Festival. All the little faux countries around International Lake (or whatever it’s called) have tastings of their native foods. There are food events and wine tastings.

And taste we will. Friday night, we’ll be at the South African wine tasting dinner. It should be wet and tasty. And a very nice way to transition between NYC and Sun City Center, where Jamie’s mom lives. SCC is the kind of place where you are just as likely to see people driving a golf cart down the road (yes, the roads have golf cart lanes) as driving a car.

But, as I said, it will be really nice to see Jamie’s mom. It’s been too long.

And there’s a damned good BBQ rib joint just down the street from where she lives. Gotta love that.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Family, Food, Jamie, Life, NYC, Travel by Kirk
1 Comment »

As in giving. Giving when you don’t have to, but rather want to.

One of the many good things Jamie and I took away from our brief collision with organized religion, was the concept of charity, of giving.

We had a visitation, at our former church, by the treasurer of the diocese, during which he presented an argument for “proportional giving”. PG, my abbreviation, not some cultish appurtenance draped casually off the shoulder, is simply this: choosing a percentage of your gross income, a percentage that pushes the boundries of comfort, then when a paycheck comes in, tithing that percentage of your income to the church. This is your way of thanking God, Higher Power, Whatever, for the privilege of taking space in His/Her/It’s world.

When Jamie and I took our leave of the organizational side of religion, veering into the less claustrophobic/psychotic land of “faith”, we carried the concept of “proportional giving” with us.

We don’t give the money to support a building any more. We, instead, give the money to support people.

When we left the church, we were both agreed that our giving should not come to an end. That it was right and good to, as they say, spread the wealth (such as it is), and so we both searched the internet for charities that we believed in, that we felt did more good than harm. That used our money wisely, effectively.

There are many charities out there. You know this, you get solicitations from them almost every day. It’s hard to choose. It’s hard to say “no”. It’s hard to know when to say “no” and when to say “yes”.

It is easier when you do your research and see what percentage of your funds goes to good works and what goes to fund raising. You’d be surprised, or not, at the number of charities that waste so many of the dollars, given freely and with the intent of doing good, in administrative costs, fundraising costs, etc. A friend recently did a bike trek around Ireland for Lance Armstrong’s cancer charity. I donated. I like my friend, I support her desire to do good. And frankly, more power to her, I certainly couldn’t have done that ride. And it did look amazing. Trouble is, Lance Armstrong’s cancer charity wastes a lot of the money it raises. And in the end, my friend probably would’ve done much more good donating the money it took to take the trip to a more financially concerned charity than actually taking the trip.

But in the end, I support her. We do what we do, and doing something is most often better than doing nothing.

What do Jamie and I do now that we’re not giving the funds to the church? We did a good deal of research; two wonderful sites for this are: Network for Good and Charity Navigator, both give ratings, ie: dollars donated/dollars used beneficially/dollars used to raise dollars. We both were drawn toward the concept of the micro-loan.

The micro-loan is, in a nutshell, a small loan given to an entrepreneur in a developing area – 3rd world country, impoverished area of a developed country – to help them grow and be more self-sustaining. To make a better life for themselves and, indeed, their community.

So Jamie chose FINCA and I chose Accion International. Both of the linked sites give a far better explanation of micro-finance than I do; even if you’ve no interest at this point in giving away any of your hard-earned cash (a totally understandable position), I’d urge you to read about this, it might, down the road, appeal to you.

Jamie donates totally to FINCA. I alternate, 1st of the month ,15th of the month, between ACCION and, what I consider an incredibly worth charity, Genesius Theatre. ACCION does amazing, life-changing work, but Genesius is the only reason I’m here writing this today.

Fodder for another blog, but suffice to say, without the second home I found in Genesius Theatre, the 11 year old, self-aware, fat homosexual child, who wound up growing into me, would never had made it through High School. Yes, it’s a sad song that few wish to hear, but the suicide rate of gay pre-teens and teens is astounding; such is the society we live in. I easily could have been a statistic had it not been for the community I found at Genesius.

What I donate to Genesius is a pittance compared to what that theatre gave me: love… and life.

Ohhhh dear, I’ve become so damned preachy and maudlin, haven’t I? Well, one more thought then I’ll get off my soapbox.

We all, myself included, can do so much better than we do to make this world better. Every day is a struggle with the mundane, regimented march that is life. A struggle that most often makes us forget how damned lucky we are to be here; how miraculous life really is. It is so easy to forget.

I’d urge you to give something back. Doesn’t need to be money; could be time, clothes, service, whatever. Just give something back; it’s good for the heart, it’s good for the soul, it’s good for the world. Best of all, it doesn’t require that you believe in any “higher power”, just the beliefe that you can do some little good in this world.

And that’s not such a bad thing at all.

And now, as it’s 1AM, I’d better get my ass to bed so I can get up and get to work so all the above is possible.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Jamie, Life, Spirituality by Kirk
3 Comments »

Stewart. That Martha. She pissed me off. What about? Quinces.

There was a piece in the latest Martha Stewart magazine about “The Forgotten Fall Fruit”, ie: quince. Jamie & I were at our local, really good, fruit and veggie market yesterday when there, in a bin, were some quinces. I thought, “Why not?”, and chose two that, to me, looked quite lovely.

Arriving home, I looked up the article and found that Ms. Stewart says to buy quinces with no sign of green skin; that ripe ones are pale yellow to yellow. I, of course, had bought two greenish ones. Why? Why did I do that, you ask.

Because the art director of the piece, for whatever reason, had used two lovely green quinces on the first, full-page picture of the article. And as I tend to lean more toward the visual, I remembered the picture not the words.

So now, I have two greenish quinces resting on the kitchen counter, ripening. One day, the air will be redolent with their, reportedly, lovely scent and they will be the proper, yellowy color.

But for the moment, they’re green and I’m still pissed off at Martha.

…Didn’t I just write about falling into petty annoyances. Ah well… I’m only human. 🙂

k.

Tags: Ephemera, Food by Kirk
3 Comments »

That’s what the air is tonight. Crisp. Autumnal. The sky is clear and star-filled. And living in NYC, that last is saying something.

I think of all the seasons, Autumn is my favorite. Well, I don’t think that, I know that. Maybe it has something to do with the on-set of the end, or rather, the big rest. It’s a time of amazing energy and change. The same could be said for the Spring, which is my second favorite season. Winter being my third. Summer, dead last; so far behind the pack, to borrow a line, it thinks it’s in the lead.

I’m looking forward to the upcoming (how did the time pass so damned quickly) holiday season. I know, I know, believe me, I rail against the ridiculous, disturbing American need to start selling the holidays months before they’re here. But today, on one of my walks, in the air’s crackling briskness, I looked into the building’s little garden area: someone had decorated it with mini-pumpkins and suddenly, I was whooshed ahead to Halloween, and Thanksgiving. And it made me feel good.

Probably because this year, unlike any since I left my parents’ home 27 years ago, I’ll be celebrating in a home. In my home. With my husband and cats and, if Jamie and I ever get our act together and figure out a date, with friends over for the holidays. Oh it all sounds so traditional and mundane; so straight. It really isn’t. What it is, is glorious. There are many times when I, like we all do, get caught up in my own little dramas, petty annoyances, drudging ruts. It’s human nature; it’s what we do. For some perverse reason, it’s so very easy to complain.

But the truth of it is, I’m damned lucky. And happy. And I think most of us are. Not in some Edenic way, only the insane and the sainted live there, but all of us who have some modicum of comfort and freedom and friendship and love in our lives should take a moment each day and say thanks to whatever power we happen to belive in. An island without life is just a barren rock, and that’s no way to live.

As the performance artist, Penny Arcade, says, “You should love somebody. It’s the most political act there is. It’s the only one that truly changes the world.”

Hey, wasn’t this post about Autumn?

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Family, Jamie, Life, NYC, Politics, Theatre by Kirk
No Comments »

Shantaram. It is a name meaning “man of peace”. It’s a book. A very long book. A 936 page book. By Gregory David Roberts. A very long book. And worth every delicious moment spent reading.

It’s an amazing mix of thriller, drama, memoir, cultural immersion, love story, criminal methodology, big thoughts, and little ones, too.

Our lovely mortgage officer, Dinika, loaned it to Jamie & I. This was a while back. Jamie read it right away; I, didn’t. I admit it, I was daunted by the book’s physical heft; a book you could kill someone with. But finally, I started. Now I’m just past the halfway mark and loving each and every one of its many pages. It’s an amazing ride, a wonderful education; a tome to savour.

What’s it about? Briefly, it’s a novel about a man who escapes from an Australian maximum security prison (where he has been justly jailed for various criminal offences) who’s run from the law takes him eventually to India. Bombay/Mumbai to be exact. There he meets a cast of characters from ex-pats from across the globe, to make-shift slum dwellers, to Mafia kings. And his life is changed. Boy, that really doesn’t sound interesting. But really it is. It is phenomenal.

The author, Mr. Roberts, is a man who escaped from an Australian maximum security prison (where he had been justly jailed for various criminal offences) who’s run from the law took him eventually to India. Bombay/Mumbai to be exact. There he met a cast of characters from ex-pats from across the globe, to make-shift slum dwellers, to Mafia kings. And his life was changed.

I’m anxious to see where he and the character wind up. So back to reading I go.

Nite,
k.

**Two things, while digging up the links for this piece, I discovered that the novel is in film pre-production; starring and produced by Johnny Depp. I have mixed feelings about this. While I understand the desire to film this story, it is an amazingly visual piece, I worry that even a longish film won’t do the story justice. I would much prefer to see it done as a BBC mini-series. While it wouldn’t reach the mass audience that a “major motion picture” would, it would allow the tale to take its time, unfold as it should. Just compare the TV & film versions of, for example, The Singing Detective, TV/film or The Lives and Loves of a She Devil, TV/film (as simply, She Devil, to witness what a vast difference an extended time-frame can make. I hope it comes out well.

Also, I thought I should mention that when I link to amazon or any other such selling entity, I’m doing so only to help ya along should you wish to seek out the whatever for yourself. There’s no payback on this end other than the joy of spreading the word of things I like.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Books, Ephemera, Movies, Television by Kirk
No Comments »

Three cheers to me if I manage to get through this post with any sense of continuity. As wasted as I am with food and drink, I can’t possibly go to bed until I’ve digested a bit more.

Anyway…

I love language. I love words and how they ebb and flow and meet to create vastly more than the sum of their parts.

And to a great extent, I feel I’ve a pretty fine grasp of my own language. I can turn a phrase, toss out a bon mot or two (deux).

And in French, I can listen quite well, if not express myself past a natal level.

I’ve lately been thinking about Spanish. Zim has something to do with this, however, it’s more in my day to day dealings that I’m feeling more and more, well, Anglo-specific.

Where I work, there is a lovely woman named Nora. Nora speaks Spanish. Nora speaks little English. I’m sure it’s the same situation with me and French, that Nora understands English but doesn’t speak it well. And so, we have these brief conversations in broken English/Spanish which are comprehendible to us both, yet satisfying to neither.

More and more, it bothers me that I can’t communicate with this delightful light in my day. It makes me feel smaller that I’ve lived in NYC for 20 plus years and still can’t speak more Spanish than what I’ve learned from the public service announcements on the subway. I feel incredibly insular.

Moreso than French, here is a language that I should have been learning all along. Every day, I relate to people who speak Spanish as their primary language. Every day, I’m missing out on a chance to connect, to really experience all that is around me. One could carry that further and say, “Why don’t you learn Arabic?” or many of the other widely spoken languages of this melting pot that I call home. And indeed, why don’t I? My day starts off brilliantly with a smile and a quick conversation in English with the wonderful gentleman who works the cart where I get my morning coffee. Why shouldn’t I greet him in his native language?

There is so much to learn. When we stop learning, we die; that’s truly what death is, the end of learning. That is the death of the soul. Why don’t we make time?

Tomorrow, I’m stopping at the Barnes & Noble (no link, they do well enough) and picking up Spanish for Dummies. I’m sure it exists. It will be my birthday present to myself, and to Nora. And maybe, having started on that road, I won’t be such a dummy after all.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Life, NYC by Kirk
3 Comments »

Overly so. Extremely so. “One waffer thin mint” so (as the line goes in “The Meaning of Life”). But, oh, so good.

Jamie will outline the dishes in a post soon to come, but in the meantime, what a wonderful meal! What an extensive meal. Oh, so good.

If you can, I urge you to try The Riverview Garden. The food is lovely. The people are lovely. The wine is lovely.

It is in a difficult location, but if you’re willing to travel (and you so should), I urge you to do so; you won’t be disappointed.

More later. Now, after eating for 4 1/2 hours, I’m pooped.

I am so useless at work tomorrow. That is, unfortunately, until tomorrow comes, when I’ll be my usual, responsible self.

I so need a night of drag.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Food, NYC, Riverdale by Kirk
No Comments »

We’re crossing through the dust trail of a meteor. Swift-Tuttle to be exact.

Here’s a nice little piece about it all.

I love looking up into the night sky. I love seeing which stars and planets can shine brightly enough to make it through the city lights. I love the Perseids. I love seeing things that aren’t airplanes shooting through the sky. Ephemeral. Don’t blink, they’ll be missed. Imagining the wonder, and fear, of the pre-scientific age, at witnessing such a display.

In the early mid-90’s, I was working at a Summer Theater in CT. It was a converted barn in a tony, yet rural, locale. And nearby, was a horse farm on a hill.

This is where we used to go watch the Perseids.

Up on the hill, it was dark. No, I mean dark. You needed a flashlight to see the person three feet from you. And the sky was a huge expanse of wonder. Even when there were no meteors crossing it, the sky presented a bountiful feast of stars and planets laid out for your gazing pleasure.

And when the meteors were flying, ahhh, amazing. We’d sit there on the grass by the fence of the horse meadow and oooohh and ahhhhh like it was the most amazing Fourth of July display ever. And it was. Except of course, it wasn’t on the Fourth of July and the fireworks were nothing man could ever have created. We’d sit there watching the fire fly across the sky. Cool. Very cool.

And just as cool, from time to time, you would feel the earth faintly shaking, and then you would hear a rumbling. Then it would grow louder and stronger; freakishly increasing in strengh and volume in this darkest of places until it drowned out any conversation.

And then, at the fence, a mass of horses would appear. Snorting, pawing the ground, and then calm, some coming close, asking for a rub on the forehead. And we would stand there, with the horses and the meteors and the stars and planets, and snorting and other horsey noises. And it was magical.

And then, on some unknown-to-humans cue, the mass of horses would turn and run off to some distant part of the field. The roar of the rumbling hoof-falls deafening, then growing fainter and fainter until, having arrived at their destination, all was silent sky once again.

One of these days I’ll have to rent a car and have a Perseid reunion at that spot. It’s only two hours from where we live. And the view and the magic can’t be beat.

Nite,
k.

Tags: Ephemera, Life by Kirk
6 Comments »