Skeleton Potential

Something's been stripped, it's memories I think, it's moments built and brought down to boards, never replaced with new ones. Every house has that skeleton potential, built up from bones until it looks like home again. All the lath has lost her plaster, but you can still see signs of heart. Someone chose this bright lime green, and ringed the doors with it. They said: "This will make me happy when the job's all done," then sat back and didn't even mind watching it dry. These are slow, slow rooms, with a fast, blurred world gone rushing outside. The spin of the sun a thousand times over, each passing car at pavement speed, no slowing. What's new in here, not at all – nothing doing and in no hurry at it. Sometimes I think there's countless reasons why all good things should last forever. But if we were immortal, we'd be bored by now, and out of space besides. History has value because we lose 99% of it, so you won't catch me complaining what goes. I only inhabit a moment, on my own way out of the picture.

 

October 13, 2021

Digby County, Nova Scotia

 

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