Tuesday, March 27, 2007

The Frost Has Been Burned Off This Author's Weathered Heart

Spring has whisked its way into our enclave and set right what was once a matted mess of human misery. This past Saturday saw our three formerly hapless selves take in breakfast smoothies and a jaunt in our local park. Our fun was only briefly interrupted when Chestnut's wheatgrass shot started to kickbox his lower GI, forcing him to wait for a vagrant taking a paper towel bath to free up the restroom.

Sometime early yesterday a stircrazy Tumble breathed in a lungful of 72-degree spring air and set to building a miniature golf course in the backyard. (An initially reluctant Landlord Phil enthusiastically lent Tumble his post-hole digger after seeing the schematics for the ambitious "Pit of Screaming Hellfire" on the 17th hole.) Chestnut has been taking vacation days and lounging on Phil's roof, regaling him with office gossip while Phil tends to his pot seedlings.

And just today I started working on a new short story. I won't tell you anything about it now, except to say it's about a sniper with asthma.

The world that once laid waste to our hopes and dreams now intoxicates us with promise and wonder, if only to set up more hopes and dreams for a spectacular dashing. It's like a wonderful theme park ride that leaves you penniless and crippled, deliriously screaming for more as you claw your way back into the line. But enough of my silly jottings. Tumble has just called from the backyard to get my opinion on whether or not he's struck a gas main.

-F

posted @ 01:26 AM est [link]