I walked home last night and it felt good. Better than Monday, when I felt like I was dragging something big and ugly behind me the whole way. Not that it would have been hard to top that. But it’s good, I think, to get back out there and do what you love as soon as you can after having a lousy time of it. Otherwise, the lousy time becomes how you think of it, and not the cool shit that makes it worth while.
Like, for instance, last night, as I was crossing the lawn in front of the Parthenon, there was a man in business attire, his suit coat bundled up under his head, but his tie still on straight and his shirt still tucked in, who was laying in the grass, with his legs crossed at the ankle, yakking on his cell phone in some businessman lingo. He had his cell phone in his right hand. In his left hand, he was holding a kite to his chest.
Wallace Stevens says:
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
I kind of don’t know which I prefer–the man in the suit flying a kite at the park or just after.
This morning I got up early to take Mrs. Wigglebottom out for our walk. She was standing in the front room panting. I asked, “Why are you panting? It’s not hot.”
But, of course, she could already hear the distant thunder.
We only got to the stop sign before it was apparent we should turn around. Still, she looked crushed. I also love that about her, her enthusiastic commitment to our morning rituals.
Now, she’s laying under my feet, panting and listening to the rain against the windows.