when a full moon rises on silent davis lake, and the cold air is still still still,
who remembers sound?
but the peace would not be poignant if not for its opposition to mayhem. that is, i like the peace because it reminds me of what is absent: warm, live noise.
i am not entirely sure i believe that, even i if i did write it. who am i kidding? i get to stay in room 108 under clean sheets, with a clean mind, and not one staff member, camper, or stray guest will bother me. i will make middle-aged women their lattes and will fix myself a tidy little snack in the dark kitchen when the cooks have hung up their aprons, and will tuck in at a reasonable hour and be my own counselor. no sheep for this shepherd to tend tonight. there is not one person who wants one thing of me beside the occasional roll of toilet paper.
and i would be the worst kind of liar if i told you i did not miss crawling in to bed with cut feet and a bruised heart, barely ready to wake up the next morning to tend to the ministry of the day.
what a sick joke.
1 comment:
I somehow found this today. And it doesn't matter if I would have found it four years ago because I loved it just as much.
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