Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Taking the Turns at Forty

Driving north on Highway 3,
half naked trees take my eyes
around the curves of cold
asphalt and yellow center
lines.

My dream house is just
around the bend. I know
it. It is the place I live,
finally, with the deep
contentment of a satisfied
lover. You laugh. You sigh.

comes up on the dial, as I
search for a voice to ground
me. I listen for a while, but
it only makes me incredulous
that I am now forty years old.
I was just listening to that very
song over and over on my
portable turntable, the one that
was self-contained in its own
orange plastic suitcase. I bought
the Grease soundtrack in vinyl
with my very own money. I
couldn't wait to grow up and
discover a Danny-like mate.

Life, however, is happening
along and I switch channels
Radio's classical station, playing
the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra
and Cantus in concert. It is a Franz
Schubert piece; music set to a 
Goethe poem.  "Gesang der Geister 
├╝ber den Wassern" The haunting 
German better suits my forty-
year old self.

I return to dreaming about my
"it" house, just around the
bend, where I will live out
my days among the trees,
right here off Highway 3.

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