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Finding the Poetry of Life before/after
As I was driving home, I paused to think.
Its been a long time since I sought out the poetry in my life. Where is the good and the beautiful? Where have they gone?
As a younger man, in college, still struggling with the most important minutae, I would drive around, stoned to the gills, half naked, and probably sipping a tall cool one, looking for the good and the beautiful. It got to the point where I saw it all around me.
I still do, its just some times in life, maybe I get too short-sighted.
So, tooling down the road, casually puffing on onnies of some shrewdly mean sensimilla, I began to look for the good and the beautiful, rolling on cruise control.
I am the master of cruise control.
I understand the thrill of the burst of speed, and achieving separation from the pack, I just don't see the sensibility of driving that way everyday.
When I was 18 or 19, I lusted after the thrill of separation from the pack. The dodge. The lurch of the car as the carbeurator opens all the way, until, ZAM! you're there, doing 105 in a 55.
I don't do that anymore, for safeties sake, mine and everyone elses.
And I spent a summer paying off a fistful of those fuckers.
Still not finding the good and the beautiful, I rolled down the road, concious of the ever-present ice, product of an indecisive storm that dribbled over the Rockies.
Glistening.
Pulling up to my humble abode, I slowly parked, and turned down Louis Armstrong's 'hellzapoppin' (I put wagner down for a little bit) waiting for the song to finish.
Like a coat of glass.
I got out of the car, and looked around, and everything was frozen and still.
Everything was ensconced in sheaths of ice, and dusted with a highlight of snow.
Gleaming light, shimmering in scintillating waves, curved around beautifully to make halos of vivid cold delight.
I paused and looked around.
It was with me all the time.
It was the good and the beautiful.
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