several signs of autumn

There are several signs of autumn already in the north east that add to my general sense of heartbreak. Keep these thoughts out of rumination zone I keep thinking but it's hard so I prepare a canvas and lay down some words. One word actually, a series of one. Initial thoughts are go and I'm rather pleased with it. But in the blankness of my reply in my non structured meditation I work a few more hours and go wandering. To the bar where I find a wry crowd.
Who's this guy?
Me? I'm one man young.
And what's that supposed to mean?
I'm just playin' with words cowbell. (I specifically call him cowbell)
You're playin' with fire son is what your playin' with.
I stood staring at him, thinking about it, almost walk away and say, then throw down tinkle boy.
Bar stools scrape the floor, chests puff.
What's with the tinkle boy shit boy?
You gots the tiny tinkle right? That's why you're hemmin' and hawin' cowbell.
Then he swung and caught me on the forearm as I tipped back off my stool landing hard on the floor. Before I knew it I was out the door getting strangled by a fat bouncer.
I let myself relax and waited him out. When he let up I popped him quick and hard on the ear, struggled free and trotted down the road to safety. So it goes on a Friday night in the country. I may have to leave here I thought. (I always think that).

Back at the studio I check the mail. There in tiny child's writing is a message from my six year old niece Amber, "Dear Uncle Rose, Thank you for coming to my party and for the gift. Love, Amber." It took up the whole card in a good use of space. I tack it to the wall with a good long pause and think, I may have to leave this place soon.

here are some words I can never tell you

< @ Shelf Lake, Yellowstone National Park, Tuesday morning. >

In the mountains I am most at home and blank. I don't come here to write the great American novel or to photograph or much of anything else. I come here to blank then to dream again. Not the type of dream that amounts to future life or children or career, cars or other absurd shit. To physically dream. The city sapped it out of me - no words, no dreams, nothing. Here in the elevations I hear voices and see ghosts and pulse with history which are all welcome things. High up after a day of strenuous work and load in a pinch from past traumas I talk to God but she is silent.
What is your prayer?
That's what I'd like to know.
What do you think it is?
This pain. The pain of my body.
And that's enough?
No.
Why not?
Because you are love. Is love pain?
Silence.
(silence)
< end >

I look to my love
Here are some words I can never tell you.
I can not tell you that I get what I ask for, I do.
I can not tell you your love, my love.
I can not say that the beach is a sand pit and I came down to you for it.
I can not send light from above.
I ask for hope and you open the ocean.
I can not ask you for more.
You ask for hope and I open the sea.
You may not ask for more.
But these words I can never tell you because they're in service of high Romanticism and essentially bullshit and you can never tell me more.

more coming soon...