The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
Leaning his shovel on the fence, it was time to go back. Getting chased out of an epic dream is serious business. Decided later would be a ghost on the fence. In all, the order of doing things is at least as important as the things. There ought to be a simple, practical example.
As these seem scarce, maybe a way to leap the gap would be the puzzle of one hand clapping. No one can hear the solution. Or it might be compared with interrupting a Sunday sermon. The pause is important. Either it's clear, or it seems completely out of order.
We wouldn't be surprised, then, if it turns out to be an engaging ghost, personable. Perhaps he'll be related to the Tin Woodman of Oz. A happy fellow, known for his rambles in the plains of Kansas, and warn't just whistlin' Dixie. All it needs is a little patience. He will appear.
My bathroom mirror – the apparition is a habit, being reassembled of former patterns. The “me” slowly changes, mostly unnoticed as replacements form, being superseded, reforming, on an on. At length this specter becomes unsettling.
It was Einstein's chance to prove his theory that gravity bends light, during a total eclipse, and ghost was snoozing. Upon awakening, there was a different world. He recalled the story of Rip Van Winkle. Although he had appeared, something was out of kilter. The stories got mixed up. He was like Humpty without a wall.
As reckoned by the quick here, a ghost has to be recognizable.
Well then a funny thing, as it turns out. Trees, dogs happy to pee on them, train whistles, surfside singers, granma's spells. Weeds in a parking lot. History of the Middle Passage. Wooden abacus beads counting prayers. The Healing Machine with scavenged plastic beads, red ones. An ill-measured chant of anti-proliferation treaties, big-daddy hydrogen uncles, fires, floods, many f-words. The slowing flap of helicopter blades settling down to rest. Stuff that won't all fit in the mirror.
In the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, aptly named, there had once been a head. Do these match up? Once Upon A Time there was a believable story, with a wink and a nod. The Ghost of Christmas past, trudging by with bulging satchel, can't stand in for them. For “me” of utter strangeness, and others herded into the comfort zone of habit.
Well thank goodness, here he comes at last. It's Digger O'Dell. He'll have the last word: “Cheerio . . . got to be shoveling off.”
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_