A Graveyard Ditty #2

journal

mixed media 15”x20"

This morning felt like broken autumn and it's getting darker earlier —I've been dreaming more. last night it was of a gas station with rain dripping from the top corner of the pump, each drop falling into the muddy rainbow water below. In predawn silence I'll listen to some music and blame myself for the past again — morning ghosts lurking and waiting to be fed. I'll turn the music up louder and maybe dance. Whatever shakes them back into the shadows of creation. I'm also hoping the eastern screech owl that came around this time last year will be back — it lived in a cavity in a dying tree above my car for a while. I read that they clutch onto their prey for winter warmth while they sleep, the severed spine of a great hearth gripped beneath such powerful talons. The snow will be a few months off and I hope I can make it through using that type of raw material. But we've been here before — sheltering in private arcs of our stories behind the scenes. There's always more kindling that we can cling to I suppose.