|
Andrew Sier
|
I pull up out of habit and backtrack. Remember. There was the other spot, the one I found when the spot was fenced off for the concert thing, higher up better view sun coming off the water blinds me but not so bad. Wind, road, wind, big_ol_jet_air_liner, carry me to salvation and a quiet spot to think (repeating_myself). Flashback? No, read. Good book. The_Old_Gods_Waken, by Manly Wade Wellman, 1979, Doubleday. Druids, Indians, kinda Lovecraft vibe, but not so bleak. Look up, blink in sun, someone is waterskiing. Swoosh back and swoosh forth. Looks like fun. I would fall in the water at least seven times a minute, but it would be fun. Engine. Car. Turn, head, turn, big_ol_jet_air_liner, who dares ruin my folkfest? Middle_aged_man in green POS, wave and wave back, starts to walk around the lot. He's working on it! Look back at boat, prophecy_fulfilled, person has fallen in the water. Boat circles around to pick up stranded personage. Personage clambers into boat, a tiny black figure lent a tinier hand by another tiny black figure in boat. Back to book for a second, then back to boat. Boat stopped, everyone gone. Where go? Place bookmark, put down book, watch boat. Boat remains at all_stop, rotating slowly clockwise in the wind. Nothing. Comes the dawn, I am being fantastically rude, quick back to book, sorry people! Of course, I still peek back at intervals, I still being I, but the situation remains the same for roughly half an hour when boat suddenly roars (buzzes) to life and speeds away. And then I come here and write about it to total_strangers for no good reason other than to write something. Am I laughing? No, seriously, am I laughing?
|
030713
|