Monday Night and Snow
I met a friend earlier. Robert. A writer. We had food and drinks and talked women and books and an idea a friend of mine has for a Beatnik art pad in a deserted corner gallery in this depressed old queen of a town.
He got inspired and so did I.
Later I sat with friends - the kind of bar friends you make night after night - and they talked and I listened. Snow bands came and went and the heavy ones made the Plaza magical and not lonely and empty and longing for even the birds that tramp its morning grass.
I walked home on slick snow-melt streets and breathed out white smoke winter breath and listened to Peter Gabriel sing a song called Mirrorball. He didn’t write it.
“Everything has changed…dear/Everything has changed.”
The magical touch of a special woman. I smiled and I walked down the streets, just getting slick with the plunging thermometer and I smiled more and thought of someone from a while ago.
“We kissed like we invented it.”
God, will I ever kiss someone on a train or in a car or on a wet slick streetlamp street again?
The Saturday The Time Changed
We fall back tonight. This morning we plunge into winter. The sun did not rise today. It laid down in a bed of thick gray clouds dousing Santa Fe with an icy rain that wants to be snow but can’t because of layers upon layers of warm and cold.
I am on a second pot of coffee. Rare for me. But it is one of those days. Coffee in bed. Wondering how to get the stray phone back left at a friend’s house overnight. A long, cold walk. Too much time to think.
I look out my window now and see giant flakes fo snow mixing with the ice rain. A terrible beauty.
This is a day for being in love and in bed and letting her pick the movie.
Cold and a touch of snow
We got the first drips of snow and a long rain in Santa Fe last night. The mountains, already capped by fresh snow yesterday, are probably covered this morning.
I have not ventured out of my little San Francisco Street studio to look yet.
This is the time of year where I wonder if I can truly write again - ever. I feel the urge, even the need, but there is a block in my mind and a nagging pain in my shoulder that say, “Why bother?”
Why not bother?