Friday, September 21, 2007

labours





The great hunter Orion slumbers at the south-eastern edge of a cerulean field, his great arm not, as usual, holding a bow, but now gently wrapped around his head, shielding shuttered eyes from the bright light of the sun the spills down from above in the reflection of a newly polished moon.

I have fallen asleep too early and now awoken too early and walk with the dog to the top of the small hill. The street curves below me, dropping down not steeply, but enough to add romance to the landscape, as the ground falls off toward the sluggish midwestern stream a half-mile that way.

In the house the woman sleeps but the cat prowls. The televsion flickers with a black and white drama from the years of the World War. The power lights on the computer monitors flash in their synchronous way, the screens dark to the powers and allures of the internet. Six books that need to be reviewed for student use, four articles that need to be read, and three manuscripts in various stages of final editing rest on my desk, in both digital and paper form.

In three or four hours we will probably have breakfast, gather ourselves for the day. Football games will appear on television. Emails will arrive. There will be the outdoor market to get to, the garage to re-organise, and all that work to do. As I walk back toward the door with the dog I consider brewing the coffee and starting early. But t
he great hunter Orion sleeps so soundly, and I yawn. And we go back inside, and I pull off the clothes, and fall back into bed.


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copyright 2007 by Ira Socol -
Traversee by Humberto Castro

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