It's Just A Hat  

fexiedog 69M
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9/17/2005 1:30 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

It's Just A Hat

During the long, cold, dark winter I often stand, my nose pressed against the frost painted glass of my ice fixed, sliding balcony door; longing for a day just like today. My dreaming mind would gestate a perfect world, where gentle people are happily set in a world of consistent balmy, sun filled days and nights filled with white twinkling stars, scattered like seeds in an endless array; and a fat, smiling, yellow moon. It then follows that, if my heart felt desire was present in that stilted opus I would be content to still my restless searching pilgrimage. But a gust of frigid, snow filled air finds me alone at this crystal tinted pane. Alone, and waiting for someone very special to share love with. A woman who is full of innocent joy and appreciates the value of love; of sharing love. Someone who will race me to the car, beat me; and demand the keys.. standing defensively between me and the door, hand stretched out, a playful twinkle in her laughing eyes. I would hand over the keys; resigned to the fact that she can, at her whim, demand, and receive; anything she wants from me. I have a daughter much like that .. she empties my "change bowl" as a matter of course. It's an inexplicable, intensely gratifying, experience for me; something akin to the delight one might feel watching the cold and desperate little sparrows feeding from a saucer of birdseed, left by some benevolent soul, a comrade unknown to you; but in act.

Happily resigned to the passenger seat, I rummage through the glove box for my sunglasses, while she "fixes" my carefully set driver's seat to accommodate her pleasant frame (at the end of our sojourn, she, without any qualms, will slip quickly out the door and leave the seat for me to wrestle with when next I am consigned to some errand; of her bidding). But the drive.. Feet stretched before me, my head comfortably laid back empty of concern, sitting beside this wonder, the top down, comfortably silent beneath the hypnotizing succession of intermittent, deep shadow and flashing, bright sunlight, enveloped in the warm summer breeze; we cruse the bumpy miles to nowhere in particular. The tall trees with dappling leaves, and thick brown bark standing like soldiers on parade, fly past in blurred succession.

Has there ever been a happier man than me. What stroke of genius made this woman mine. Her tilted smile, her perfect face, the, all but invisible, childhood scar, creased into her bottom, blood red, lip. Her vibrant self, the magnitude of her! This open, careless, sultry, blooming flower of summer's brush; this solitary single star here with me, for me. Me; alone. Craft, sculptors as you may, a lifetime of dedicated attention will never her likeness make again; for here in my sight is the magic touch; a universe did create.


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