I stare at two photos she posted over herself, unable to
tell which one is the real her, it either is – one, the happy-go-lucky gal she
most displays in the videos she posts, the other, darker, cautious, maybe even
scared, as if we have both traveled back in time to when she believe she had
every right to be, hair pinned back, head slightly turned, as if she felt the
need to be ready to run if she had to.
The brighter picture has her hair down as she smiles, both
bearing the same intense stare, eyes so deep I drown in them. I’m not sure
which one I believe though leaning towards the darker face as it face is the closest
I’ll ever get to the real her.
She hurt herself dismounting, a tragedy she caught on video, haunting images of pain that go beyond the physical discomfort. Whatever goes on in her life, this served as her refuge, a place she can return to where the outside world does not intrude, and on this day (after things went well for her last time) disaster struck, a moment when she nearly fell out of the saddle then on top of this ,her coming down too hard on an already injured leg, forcing her trainer to bring over something so she could sit on, to wait for the pain to subside long enough for her to hobble to her car for the depressing ride home. The silhouette of her seated and the pain so potent, I could almost feel what she felt though the deeper injury comes to that part of her that wonders what she did to have fate do this to her, and drawing back slightly -- will she be able to climb back into the saddle again. Is the injury that bad? Will she be brave enough to chance it again. Can she end...
Bright almost scalding light greets me this morning, although the temperature is significantly down from mid-80s yesterday. I’m not a big fan of bright sunlight. My mood tends to prefer cloudy, rainy days. But I’ll take what I can get. We’re in that post Easter time in anticipation of Memorial Day and the official start of the summer season. We’re planning a trip to Asbury Park again for the end of the week, and then an overnight up to Kingston for our semi-annual visit to Woodstock for some time between now and the end of May. Both places have become anachronisms, reflecting a reality that no longer exists – Asbury having lost nearly all of its blue collar credibility in its rush to embrace Gen Z, while Woodstock clings to what remains of a generation of love and peace. Since I have a foot in both working class and hippie culture, it makes sense that we would travel to these places, getting our glimpse of something rapidly fading. I’m also planning a day trip to Scranton...
We live on the verge of self-annihilation And still sing songs promoting peace Or appeasement, Blaming everybody but ourselves, While whacko Jane Fondas Rant about racist climate change While basking in the lap of luxury, Never changing, Paper radicals ranting about What the rest of us ought to do While doing something else themselves We, sitting on the edge of global war, While spoiled children rant on campus About unjust life is About diversity that is not diverse, About gender designed to humiliate men About climate change that is mostly myth, While we all wait for the body bags To wash up on our shores at in time past, Not even knowing whose bodies they contain, Draft dodgers finding new ways to dodge Overweight, brain dead idiots, Waiting for the world to end so that they can say, “Told you so!” 2024 journal menu email to Al Sullivan
Comments
Post a Comment