One of those evenings when some ideal moment could easily be uncovered
if only those last bits of light could attach themselves to feet and intent and remain aloft there in the breeze that’s getting sharper.
You don’t even figure out you’re wrapped up in it until the successive hooks have rendered confused delight:
shiny pavement testifying to the retreating soldiers marching east, lilac sickeningly sweet, laurel sharp and derivative, the inexplicable union between orange and sky blue stitched.
No pen, hurried steps back home ways sometimes pausing to halfway shut those eyes now skyward and spin ’round- a dance to keep the mind recording.
That concentrated era hums fog-like only in retrospect; the stimulation of its full weight and presence required to spin you lost and smiling.
Absent: slow appreciation that the prize was in the seeking.
Karl Mohr, is viticulturist by trade. He was educated at Ohio University and received a B.A. in Spanish and minor in Russian then an A.S. at Chemeketa Community College in Vineyard Management. Writing has always been his dirty little habit accompanied by Permaculture, winemaking, and frolicking in the outdoors.