Homeward Bound

I left Bolago just as the sun was in its wane; still visible, still vibrant, still apparent, but the sparkle had gone from its shine.

I always feel melancholy when I come back from the country, especially in the late afternoon light. The sun was wide and bright across the road, dazzling in the blue sky, as I headed down the highway. There were long shadows across the bitumen with crisp, bright edges, snaking ahead in front of me, out to infinity.

I turned off the CD and cruised down in silence. The sunroof was open, a cool breeze blew in. Leaving behind nature, leaving the green, leaving the cockies flying after an eagle? Leaving tranquillity, leaving the great peace of mother earth’s lungs? I think that is why I turned the CD off…just the sound of the wind and the great panorama stretching out in front of me, undisturbed. Sweeping fields, the pine plantation that I say is like being in Canada, crisp light, waving gums, a horizon you can, actually, see.

Sweeping down on that great big, black ribbon, a liquorice strip, velcroed to the alloy rims of my car, male female. The world’s orgy with the automobile was forever propelling me forward: precision French carrying me tirelessly, away. Bye bye Chris...tian, was the unspoken chant of the trees. Whoosh, said the wind. The sun’s, warm fingers slowly began to slide down my back... gone.

I swung up into the city, as the highway gave way to a congestion of freeways, all cleverly made from concrete and steel, beautifully slipping under and over each other, hard and cold. The sun had set and the light became that subdued empty, right after the golden ball dips behind the invisible horizon and before the light fades away completely.

My thoughts turned to Manny and his handsome face and his beautiful lips and… his loneliness, a part of which I contribute to. I’d said I might call, as I passed by, drop in, but my time to myself, clearly, seemed too precious to divide up in his direction. If I dropped in, I wouldn't be home till close to midnight, I knew that and I just wanted to go home and chill, in my own space, before I had to start the new week. So, I didn't call and I didn't drop in and that part of me, which, I guess, he has, ached and felt loneliness for him and I felt bad.

But not enough.

We talked later and he said he’d wished I’d come over.

David and I had smoked pot and I was comfortable and I didn't regret my decision…almost. David and I chatted and drank tea

Now darkness has descended and the weekend is truly over and I have to iron a shirt, and the cold, hard, facts of life come crashing in.

I want it to be the weekend every day.