Wednesday, November 02, 2011

the only truth I know...

Oh the drizzle of the rain... A wet day. Not freezing. Some of the annuals haven't collapsed yet.


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Looking at the farmhouse from the road, I think about how insignificant its color is right now, given that the trees in front are so vividly gorgeous.


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(In the back as well. Fiery red there...)


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Afternoon. Raining hard now. We are sitting in the café, me with a stack yea high of work, but I’ve dropped it on the floor because Ed and I are embroiled in a heated banter on the subject of moral imperatives. The café owner, a hugely tolerant fellow who typically is happy to see us, is hinting we should tone it down a bit. Other customers may think we’re flinging harsh language at each other.

We’re not. But Ed on the subject of relativism can become quite animated.

It’s funny that I should debate him on this, because there was a time where I would have said “amen, me too.” But, these days, I look around me and I think – no, not so relative. I see gentle and I think – gentle is good. No harm there. No harm is good. And I swear, Ed, in his life that leans so consistently toward the gentle surely doesn’t quite mean his own words. And so we banter. Until the café closes and I pack my papers and we head home.


I’ll make the chili, I tell him. But he’s asleep already. Isis comes in and joins him. I stir turkey meat and onions and tomatoes and cumin, beans, garlic and chili powder. It’s a good meal to have on a stormy and long day. Ed wakes up, we eat, watching Modern Family on the tiny 19 incher.


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