montpelier

hill of spices, vermont. ophelia on the rug, sleeping behind me. little angel/devil dog. little one who keeps me present, likes to play eat toadstools, spider webs, ants, earwigs. the heat wave has waved. this sunday all is cool. i have books on dog training open, a book about a man who grows up on a dude ranch, another book -- stories from pakistan: in other rooms, other wonders. in the house i live in there are floors of residence. first floor: mom, dad, baby. second floor, me. upper floors, divorced dad and sometimes sadie; upstairs fiances with dogs. behind us: an odd couple. i look out to a mountain, trees. there are cars. i don't like their noise.

having left the city what occurs? i set up a futon. i find bookcases at yardsales. people tell me the story of tables, chairs. some windows are cracked. too many times painted shut. montpelier is smallish, but there is warmth to the tone of voice, the way of greeting, how people stop on the street. a park in the hills, bark on trails. i am more quiet than i have been in months; i am familiar with this quiet, but i miss the spirl stairs in our classroom. i miss the excitement that breathes on new pages, the laughing, the suspended breath. i put myself together here, open boxes i haven't opened in years. discover what went missing in transit.

two years ago i was working with horses. now i train a great dane. there is something about animals that tends to me, to the desperate side, to the meek side. almost as if socializing, training me to be something else, a being who isn't quiet, a being who can handle chaos. a green ribbon on the table, sent to me. my writing friend april. we say we will try to make things, write things. so far this summer i've been quiet. now i venture. i try to say hello here. i begin again. soon i will return to the bubble piece. try again, try to have it say what i discover, the urgency, as april was saying, that i feel.

no people now. maybe a visit. maybe it's okay? to consider, continue? today i may swim in the dog river. i have heard of other great danes named rain and canoe. these are good names. i call ophelia oph or oaf for short. oaf, according to the oed, means fairy changling.