Going home

friday, july 30
topanga, ca

up in yurt
reading dharma bums by kerouac

looking out the windows thinking about going home

the yurt is round like a shell
and the wooden beams are the bones holding up the ceiling
it is like being inside a skeleton
the view out the windows is hovering between sunset and dusk
in a way that lasts forever in the summer
many shades of green and
lilac, lavender and gray mountains fading into the distance
like cut-out silhouettes 3rd grade art projects
soft dusty glow on hillsides of setting sun makes golden highlights
on the green and blue iris trees

leaving tomorrow
what is coming
who knows
more open road
and the smell of the ancient trees and my home
which breathes my heart open in a particular way
it is where i began
don't much know if it's where i will end

and i go meet the cabin tucked in the woods that has the smell of all my first memories
it was built from a single log redwood with no power tools or nails
a sculpture
the door hinges are made of straps of leather
the logs are joined with carved wooden notches
built by carpenters and loggers
jesus was a carpenter too

some things never change

outside the cabin
the redwood trees stand in congregations looking solitary into the sky
maybe waiting for the second coming
their bark is rusty red and soft, and when you touch it,
it sends out spores that make the air thick
these are the sentient beings of beginningless time

there is a porch where i can go sit and remember
so many things

feeling tender

i guess that's what happens when you remember

feel a million miles from the avatar on my flyers

just a tenderizing piece of meat

and my heart goes
yes yes yes

i am the tide