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Dangerous Compassions

parking lot

“Yay!  It’s a huge parking lot!  I will walk around the whole parking lot, and look at all the dumpsters!”  I wanted to walk the perimeter–the word perimeter appealed to me.  “But I almost never take anything out of the dumpsters.  I just look.  I am a good pumpkin.”

“Yes, you’re a good pumpkin,” Ming said.

“Yes, I am the orangest, roundest, fattest.  Most tendrils!”

“Oranges?”

“Orangest.  Orangest pumpkin!”

“Oh, I thought you said oranges.  Oranges having tendrils is just wrong,” Ming said.

“No, I think everything should have tendrils!” I said.  “Oranges would be great with tendrils.”  I considered whether I believed what I was saying.  “My hair is kind of like tendrils.”  One of my favorite poems, Elegy for Jane by Roethke, mentions hair-tendrils.

Ming parked at the costco parking lot, and we agreed at a time I would return to the car, with the keys.  I put on my kumquat mask.  He had his mask on already, so we pressed our heads together in a covid kiss, and I began to walk.

walking machine

Felt good to move.  Oh yeah, I wanted to tell you.  I had previously believed humans are walking machines.  Now I believe humans are dancing machines.  But I realize I could be wrong about all that.

Running machines I’ve considered.  Sex machines, well…  Walking to get water.  Walking to the spot to harvest certain delicious seeds.  Long distance walking, carrying babies.  Walking to the better temperature or grazing place, relocating for a season.

Sometimes when I walk, I tell myself, “I’m made for this–I’m made to walk.”  I feel my body all smoothly working together–skeleton and muscles, tendons, fascia, heart beating, lungs breathing, and all–to get me down the road or trail or through the parking lot.

Yes, that strip mall is freakin’ huge.  I didn’t walk the whole perimeter.  I saw some good dumpsters, and this confusing cinder block place filled with shopping carts and trash.

trash magic

parking lot

Those abandoned black pants looked nice, but no way was I reaching my hand toward random abandoned pants.  But stories started spinning, in my mind.

Dumpsters can have the best colors, of their paint.  It fades unevenly; something gets spilled that brightens part of it.  Scratches and the sun take their toll.  Look at these colors!

dumpster

This one, more superman of a dumpster blue.  A lil tagged.  Oh yes, so classic.  Delights the mind, with trash magic.

parking lot

I was a bit late, back at the car–walked 18 minutes instead of 15.  Felt good to cover some ground and give love to the backsides of buildings.  I love parking lots, the sacred liminal.  We had already walked in the early morning.  So it added up ok.

bag

Also in the news, I got this cool bag, purpley.  Little cartoon folx are making donuts, which is a legit activity.  The designer has something to do with the San Diego Comic Con, which I like.  And tokidoki means “sometimes” in Japanese.  But he’s Italian.

me

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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