by strangedayonplanetearth

journal 6.21.13

I was carrying too many bags. Any was too many, as I pulled my shoulder Monday and was hot and famished on the L train at the miserable hour of 6 o’clock on a Friday evening.

Arriving home, I summarily dropped mail, bags, and purse on floor and went straightaway to wash my hands. When I looked up I saw in the mirror a face I had never seen before. Steely eyes, locked jaw, don’t-fuck-with-me air. I wondered how often I wore it, and felt oddly shy, like I was staring at a stranger.

I didn’t have that face four years ago. I’m not sure how I feel about owning it, about living in an environment that conjures it. I peered in the mirror again shortly after but that woman was gone.

After dinner I weeded the garden, then bought one lottery ticket and a bottle cleaner at the CTown grocery store. On the walk home I discovered the nearly-full moon brimming over the brownstones on Hart Street. It is my favorite time, lost between day and night, blue, green, and black. These June evenings still have the courtesy to cool off.

sun-edite

Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t be able to recall what these years were like, that I haven’t written the stories because they are not all stories I want to remember.

image: modification of “Wind Blown Grass Across the Moon” by Hiroshige, 19th century, via Art Gallery ErgsArt on flickr