What Do You See With Your Eyes Closed?

There's A Window In The Sky

It's Saturday, and I stood on the front stoop for a few minutes. It's a good idea to keep an eye on what's out there, I say. Shelby took the opportunity to chew on some grass and flinch every time a car passed by or a lawn mower sputtered to life around the corner. She bolted back inside. 'Out there' is not for her.

I looked up in the general direction of the sun...did you ever do that? And I squeezed my eyes shut, tight, and watched for what would appear. It was a stone-arch window opening, minus the tower wall that it should have been mortared into. It just hung there against that no-color bluegrey that I see inside my eyelids, with the monotone kaleidescope of fishscale glitter all around it.

I thought maybe someone was in the window, standing back in the cool shadow away from the opening, but regarding me - or all of us - with a sort of predatory detachment. Not hungry right now. Maybe later, whoever-it-was seemed to say.

The sun is still shining out there. I closed the door; that helped a little. All morning long I've had the same song cutting across my consciousness like a knife. It hurts, but at the same time, it's good to know that sometime in history back, as they liked to say in the Mad Max films, somebody was feeling like I do and sat with a guitar across his knee and didn't spare the rod until a song was done.

If you haven't heard of the Godfathers, look them up.

"Boys and girls don't understand - the Devil makes work for idle hands.
Birth. School. Work. Death."