Site Meter novembre's diary

novembre

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john lennon in my eyes

thursday morning we watched the sun rise through the branches of stooping trees until it seeped through all foilage coming to rest above us, illuminating all the roses in the garden cox showed us.

another reason to love the bay area. there are so many secret rose gardens; i've been led to three in the past few years.

walking up worn brick steps to perch on decomposing benches i saw that several bushes had gone to seed: they would probably be trimmed later that day if the gardener made his way to this nook. i checked for early morning joggers and gathered everyone close, and did what i used to do when walking home from school:

i gathered two fists full of roses (their buds were loose and the petals about to fall, i didn't feel remorse, remember they would have been trimmed soon anyway) and hurled them into the air over our heads. some landed in her hair and she left them there, yellow ovals against her red mane. and in the crook of your neck, and the folds of the blanket cox had gathered around his shoulders, because he always gets cold in the morningtime, he told me that.

(while we were sitting, talking, i looked over and realized that you were wearing water shoes. with strange pants that looked like they were stitched from a parachute. that you could roll up and button so they puffed out like 1920s golfer slacks. and then laughing and then i was so, so glad i knew you and had your friendship. suddenly i knew i could come back to this moment at any damn time and laugh and feel good about life.)

i love morningtime. i don't like to wake up early in order to be anywhere in particular -- in fact i rarely ever rise so early -- when i do my eyes widen and everything is illuminated. all the little houses tucked into the hills. all the bright trees. the quiet streets, the silent intersections. all hushed and waiting to fall into day.

12:43 am - 06.05.05

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