Broken Snowshoe Moon, Soon I’ll Make it Hot Moon
Do you like it this way? I wanted to see my words on white for a change. This will do for now.
Yesterday morning, Barbara sent me a dream in which she was working my old gig at the henna booth, and felt encouraged to ask if I could make that happen / put in a good word for her.
That afternoon, my boss from the henna booth calls. For the first time since last Summer. Everybody wins: Barbara can work while I’m at school and weekdays. I can work Friday, Saturday, Sunday and play in the sun and listen to bad pop for twelve hours and psychologize from the gypsy booth and make stupid amounts of CASH MONEY for just being me.
From this bog of busyness the making memory of Summer was a sudden ray of enthusiasm, giddy and glowing. Today, my brain may be a slow and thawing weight of woven obligations, but I can feel warmth and promise of another place just there, nearly here. It feels like this piece of a dream:
I’m in an Orange County freeway tunnel, taking a shortcut. The tunnel, a traffic tunnel full of both cars and people, it slants upwards — it starts to collapse. It starts to disintegrate — cars crash and pile at the top, start to slide back down toward us from gravity — water slides down, too, eroding little rivulets in the pavement. The whole scene a horrific disintegrating pile-up, people scream and hang on and try to keep each other from falling and being crushed. It’s very dark. I see a little window in the side, to the right, and it’s light out there. I pop out and I’m just where I need to be, a rural place with tall pale-gold fields of wheats or grasses, filled with sunlight of that same pale-gold shining.