An exercise in two perspectives.
On those rare nights when we stay out late, arriving home to pitch blackness, I find myself stubbornly dragging out the short walk from car to house. The little animal inside me perks up then, flinging its eyes to the sky and taking big hungry gulps of stars. It is not enough, it says. I want more darkness, more smallness under the vastness. Which is why on those nights, after we retreat back back into the warm closed-ness of the house, I find myself resenting such a fine shelter and say, Honey, do you remember that one night on our honeymoon when we slept in the sage bushes? And you remember of course and go there with me again because you know how badly I need it.
The still sun warmed rock we lay on in the middle of that red desert, smooth hardness cradling our spines. The blackest black of the sky set against endless stars. The waves of dusty green scent rising off of the sagebrush as it cooled into the night. And that rustling, a sound we could not place until you finally pulled out the flashlight, pointing its’ beam to catch two little eyes staring back at us, the tiniest field mouse clutching onto a single spindly bush bent low under its weight. Stargazing?
Apparently it’s hip to be a total free-loading bum these days. There is less and less that I understand about what’s going on outside the window of my trailer but this one has really got me. Young people, perfectly capable and able bodied, decide of their own free will to live in their cars? They leave behind fancy apartments to come out to this shit hole of a desert, run around naked and howl at the stars. I’m not saying I didn’t act a fool when I was a youngster, but this is really something else. I would leave this stinkin’ sagebrush and infernal red dirt in a second if I could ever have saved enough money to move this trailer to somewhere with street lights. Somewhere the night wasn’t so dark and the stars not so blinding. Not like anyone ever asked me what I wanted to do anyhow.