Same As it Ever Was



Sipping coffee from a small yellow cup, I sit near the cat at the window. She presses her body against the crack at the bottom, the white-painted frame with its old glass boosted up a few inches with an empty beer bottle to give air. She watches the cars pass on the street below, sees the birds land in the tree beneath the window.

The walls are white, tall, quiet. At night we fall asleep to the sound of a train, a familiar disturber of dreams. Other times, sleeping on the hill in the coldest winter, under big sky and in snow drifts it sounded gauzy, far away, my teeth chattered, laughing. Later it would explode into the bedroom, light the walls and scream, blow the candles out, we’d sleep in the snuff of smoke. Now it creeps through the spaces between buildings, catches us from the other side, its sounds distorted.

We have been unpacking, slowly, using this space as another temporary home, examining our possessions, what to keep what to throw what to let fall away into the arms of others.

It is a slow life, waking before dawn, driving through fog and cornfields, over the crooks of mountains into the smoking valley below. But it is Saturday, and so I will sit at this table for awhile longer.



About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
This entry was posted in Olive and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Same As it Ever Was

  1. Grandma says:

    Like you this Saturday morning I am sitting, enjoying the quiet of our ‘all picked up and spiffed up’ apartment, already missing Grandpa who is off to dialysis (a day off schedule due to a trip to Moses Taylor for a paracenteses yesterday), and waiting for Kyle who is coming to cook and to share his secret of making fantastic meatballs with his grandmother (who has been making them herself for 57 years and has much to learn). The afternoon will not be quiet, I suspect there will be a gathering and a tasting…and the four rooms will be chaotic once again. How blessed we are….and how happy I am it’s Saturday! xxoo Grandma

    • bearicaquinn says:

      Grandma, I love you. Your morning portrait is beautiful– looks like it’s going to be a wonderful weekend! xoxo to you, and only one more week ’til you all go to the shore! Sending you great love.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s