0345 and the witches start to make their beds. The last 15 minutes of the witching hour are always the longest, and tonight was no different. I had attempted to delay the inevitable for as long as possible, and stood around the TV on the third floor for an extra 15 minutes to put me that much closer to the bottom of the third. I stood in my favorite evening spot, overlooking the nothingness that everything is. The first thing I looked for was the moon, not out of habit or ritual, but for a just because. It was nearly impossible to find, but I finally spotted the yellow sliver of a thin crescent. The bottom of the moon barely exposed in the purple black night.
0413 and I looked at my watch. I had been staring still at the moon waiting for it to move, but it had not. I glanced away and started to day dream, buckling up to let my mind run wild. It felt like yesterday we were almost here, and today we are almost gone. I loosened the pipes for some Morrison, and then the harmonica of some Petty. I couldn't get the beat, and so skatted something on my own, and played it back on the harmonica. I checked in for a score and got no good news. I wanted to start rhyming, and wrote a few songs, but in the end I couldn't think of what could rhyme with songs.
0510 and the moon was gone. Sunrise. I hadn't watched one in a long time, and this one was different than I remembered. The sky lit before the dawn broke, and it revealed a beautiful chalkboard, streaked perfectly with three lines of chalk. The clouds were straighter than I could have thought they could be, like a music teachers 5 chalk holder drawn straight across the sky. The golden hues of the sun lit clouds were the perfect contrast to the light blue wall. Then the sun came, slowly creeping, putting one finger around each building as it pulled itself into view. I stared at it for too long, watching the soft deep orange turn to a bright stabbing yellow. The sun moves fast, and doesn't look round. I check in again to hear a score. Grab the harmonica and sing some blues.
0547 and the sun is still low. I watch the dogs stretch their backs, yawn and moan, awoken by the touch of light. Random thoughts keep filling my head, conversations won and lost. I switch feet from left to right and right to left. Spread them out just a little and still wonder what I'm looking for. I think about questions of life, and of self. I never seem to find any answers, or at least none that I remember, but then again I barely remember the questions. The mosquitoes didn't bother me all night long, but do their best now. Somehow, I scratch at a fresh bite beneath my gloves. Not that it's hard to scratch through gloves, but what kind of mosquito can bite through gloves?
0623 and I'm still scratching. Perhaps the mosquitoes had won the nights battle silently I think. I take of my knee pads and throw them on the floor. I have never taken a knee up here. Then again I've never drank from my camelback either, and yet it's along with every journey. I get another report of a Dodgers score, and it's back to the harmonica. I sing some more but silently, and start to watch the dogs again. Maybe this one is stupid, but he's having a good time. Running over mounds of dirt, or to the top. He slides down on his stomach, and rolls like Jack or Jill. The other dogs sit and scoff, but this one is doing what it's all about; entertaining oneself. I'm a little envious.
0716 and eight. six. final score. I smash the harmonica. My relief is coming soon, and I straighten up. I didn't make a mess, but am just trying to find something to do with the time remaining. I keep thinking about good thoughts and marvelous blogs. Knowing I should write this sort of stuff down, figuring I'll do as always and forget what I was going to say and where I was going. The dog isn't smart I conclude, no forehead, small brain. I quit the dialogue I had made up for him and the others, and watch him dig in the sand. Smart or not, at least he's found something to occupy his time. I don't even see the sun anymore, and I'm still confused as to what shape the building I'm standing in and on is. I think about the day upcoming, the breakfast soon to be eaten, and the pick-up football game against the Mortars platoon this afternoon.
0746 and I just threw away my watch. My relief is more than late, blood pressure rises to infuriate. I always can rhyme when I'm upset. Finally the footsteps around the corner. I take off my helmet and give a small cheer. I walk downstairs, and remember what I had been thinking. Call your mom, it's her birthday. Ring-ring. Love ya, and blog.
Happy Birthday, Love You Mom
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