My train didn't get in till midnight last night. As the car was in the town lot rather than the train lot, I had to walk a mile to the west with my bags. A good part of that was in darkness, strange at first, scarier than I want to admit. I don't even see well when it's daytime; contact lenses can only do so much to correct minus eight vision. But once I gave over to it, the other senses concentrated: the clop of my shoes against concrete, three deer thrashing through a fence, through trees. They half-circled, which had the slightest hint of menace about it, gangsterish, thrilling, as if they knew they were up to no good. And, as if I'd become animal too, I counted off the smells as the night shut down: part grassy, part fecal, seeds, sprays, spices, moisture on leaves, even a whiff of something like oranges.
*****
In the April 29, 2010 issue of the East Hampton Star. "Hearing Music in Sonic Scraps": An interview with yours truly by Joanne Pilgrim.
Above: First Presbyterian Church of Amagansett. That big white light is the moon.
Below: Bullfrog in the pond out back. Hello, Bullfrog.
4 comments:
Sometimes when you lose one sense, such as your vision, you develop other senses into a type of sixth sense and get by that way. But still it's scary.
Oh, Paul! The photo stopped me in my rush, and then that great paragraph. Animal, animal. AnimaI gave that as a writing prompt this week -- I'd seen a dancer talking about how she thinks those words when the dance gets too stiff and correct. And the animal intensifies at night, it really does. You made me feel it so strongly, so fast. THEN, I read the interview, and saw that you have TWO books forthcoming -- somehow I'd missed the word about Unbuilt Projects. Ah, Paul, so great, so good. Makes me want to shout yes a hundred times and blow kisses to the wind. (I know other writers are calmer about beautiful publication news, but, yeah, that's me.) Yay! I'm working the census right now, knocking on doors (and glimpsing all sorts of stories) for not so much pay, have a unpaid gig as writer in residence for the local library, time is weirdly crunched, but, oh, this is all so good to see. xoxo Susan
the trek in the dark...carlos castaneda came to mind.
when we're outside on a minnesota property late at night, i sometimes shut my eyes. it helps, for a bit, to get me moving.
Hi Elisabeth, that's exactly what happened to me. I'm so used to the blurry that the walk was actually thrilling, probably made even stranger by sleepiness.
Thank you, dear Susan. I will write you an email! xoxo
Nancy, I will remember that trick. Thanks!
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