Monday, November 28, 2011

daughter

shotgun



Departure is delayed a day not for any other reason than we are clinging to a rhythm we have found here. I get up at two a m to make a white sauce and notice the urgency it demands. Flour and butter and whisk and milk and all the attention I can muster. It's easier to cook but more difficult to leave. I think this must be one of those hard truths, a cause and effect. You can't quit something without starting something else, couldn't even if you tried.



Vaiden's Jungle



He pours a glass and allows me to do so as well. We sit back in matching chairs made of leather in a dark stained room where guns line a wall. Trophies hang above our heads. I pull my feet under me and sip at a whiskey too expensive to drink. He speaks of legacy, what we as humans leave behind, and crazy seems wise. This is responsibility and I can feel the weight of being what he leaves here, what it means to be his child.





someone give this dog a shotgun


Mama always said a daddy could ruin a daughter. She had seen it happen too many times.





I am gratefully ruined.




I missed you but coming back wasn't easy. It was as if I waited too long and I needed to write something really good or show you the best photograph ever until I realized it was okay and all I needed to do was get back into the rhythm of you and me so here we are. How 'bout some celebratory music? Only one more week to the Black Keys' new album.



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