Sunday, May 27, 2007

Deconreconstruction.

Long term goals are not sexy, they are not witty, entertaining, nor do they provide a lot of fun weekends with friends as you make the most of every hour in an orgy of good times and partypartyparty. Long term goals are, like me, ruled by Saturn and generally involve a lot of reflection, a lot of crosswords, hours spent walking at twilight and trying to work out what's best for you, me and everyone in between. What is real. What is right. What the Hell is that hole in your stomach and how the Hell do you make it go away. Having been a thousand times more sober this year than I was last year, perhaps the last five years, long term goals and I have spent a lot of time together, and I'm kind of used to their company. And I like being at home, though the ache to drive, fly, run never completely disappears. The call of the trees, the sunsets, the smell of pine needles, the perfume of fire and smoke and wood, they stay with you - a memory of a forgotten dream - a deja-vu waiting to happen. Sometimes I get sad about that, that it's not a reality. Sometimes I get sick of rebuilding. But mostly, I'm more Capricorn than I've ever been, and I just wait. Patiently, and rebuild and plot and dream for the honeyed promise of my future. The secret I haven't been let in on.

The name of a daughter
I am yet to hold.
I'm getting
old.
and it's a
tight fitting suit.

In the meantime. Books, food, football, my country house, good company and the rush of the wind which makes the tall, green dancers in my garden giggle and sigh.

It's ok.

No comments:

Post a Comment