opium

it had been a long walk

he wasnt tired

he had anticipated it 

                     he slung a rucksack over his shoulder  inside it were four other books so he could change his entertainment between themchange channels as it were  when one storyline or subject began to weary him he entered another book 

as a result his walks were never laborious  

                                             not as long as he could read as he walked

the morning had become afternoon and afternoon was beginning to submit  the light failing the sun setting 

he pulled upstopped walking and stood in one place on the sidewalk beside Main oblivious of the sparse traffic  had there been other pedestrians he would have acknowledged them but they were few and far between

standing fast he finished the astonishing page he was reading  The Soul of an Octopus

if the light held he wouldnt have put it away 

the book was the choicest morsel and he purposefully held off for it to be like dessert after dinner he liked the idea of dessert but since he lived alone he didnt have it afterwards he anticipated hed walk unentertained though yet chewing and tonguing and ruminating upon the realisations the books offered and also on imagined possibilities that occurred to him and churned his mind 

                        recently he began texting them to himself and later able to sort them and elaborate   

he was never truly not entertained

he walked approximately fourteen milesfourteen miles absorbed in history fascism poetry and erotica Nin and Miller knew their stuff piqued his ardor by his figuring hed be home as dark fell a mere mile and a half away

the last bit of his walk now was removed from words and their characters gone he was curious what would arrest his attentionhow would he wander

he closed the book on his finger and looked uplooked at the sky

there was his ridiculous answer

                                       the clouds

an amber whale spirit surged north working its way towards the flashing sun that broke between thunderheads its sudden rays celestial beacons a brilliant lighthouse working against a quiet fog  waves broke on the leviathans flank as surf would break on a sandy atoll a reef exposed at low tide and boiled and sputtered and rinsed away

huge orange birds flew over its back eyeing the sea for hapless fish that fled before it

now walking again he slowly turned his gaze east and saw that the moon had risen it was nearly full  a gleaming white orb a grinning polished skull there for a moment then absorbedswallowed by long entwined coiled gray snakes gray thunderheads that possibly were weeping rain thirtyforty miles away or turning men and women into stone who dared to gaze at Medusa

a soft rain began he thought hed make home before it began  not a terrible game to lose he placed a bookmarker and closed The Soul and slipped it safely among its brethren in the rucksack

the whale submerged the birds dissipated the lighthouse was cloaked yet a dull coppery light persisted

the rain softly beating the trees and earth and structures made them submit  he heard them inhaleheard them exhale then speak over each other a delicious cacophony a sensuous murmuring  and in the air he could smell the perfume fragrance ordours of their breaths

                                            it reminded him of opium

2018,  Sunday,  17  2. 19 

1119,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  20  2. 19