Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Rattle And.

I feel almost certain that it rained. Outside of that, and outside of a pervasive industrial hum that seems to have set in here in the neighborhood, I'm not altogether sure what to tell you. There is the hum. There is the rain. There were what almost had to be the second- or third-to-last tomatoes of the season. There is baseball not on mute, as per the hum, which is audible both outside and inside the closed-down house. I'm perfect for this. I love nothing more than a continual low-level noise. Get me that, and somebody to wake me up every twenty minutes, or to cut the coffee pot off half an hour before I wake up, and I'm golden.

I could quit my job. I could move to Manitoba. I could leash the dog up and walk off into the rain. We'd aim away from the hum. I'll tell you that right now. We'd make camp where there was no more hum.

Which is all I finally need—to make camp where there is no more hum. I grew up Episcopalian. If I were working through the Prayers of the People right now, that'd be my prayer. To remove from thy people the neighborhood hum. Lord, hear our prayer.

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