i am still weird

As autumn comes dew stays longer on the ground, and under the pines at the front of this house the thin soft grass is damp into late afternoon. The deck is warm, open to sunrise over a deep long blue valley. I come here to clean house, walk dogs, make money.

I can't look at food without thinking about where it came from. I can't look out at the land without thinking, top of that hill good place for a house, gets flatter toward the creek at the bottom, that little woods along the slope might keep things cool, run pigs in there and goats at the bottom and where's the sun right now? Where does the rain stand? Can you terrace that slope for a garden? Nice healthy weeds, those.

I'm too loud for this college, too armpit-hairy for these hippies, still as weird as I was in high school. Good to know, awkward just the same.

If I weren't in school my hours at the library would be perfect for the life knocking around in my brain: Wake up crazy early, get dirty outside 'till ten, hang out in the library during the siesta hours 'till two, come home and muck around 'till dark, eat for dinner what I saw grow up from the soil. Throwing my kid outside naked half the day would help with the toilet learning too, dammit. Got a ten year plan though, ask me about it latter, time to mop these warm slate floors and drink coffee 'till I wake up some more.