Sunday, August 24, 2008

A Distance

I went to the cabinet to get a glass of scotch. I was in that mood. Standing between the open doors, I notice that all the bottles are more empty than full. Some holding onto the shelf with a single finger. The french oak Glenlivet retains two fingers at most. The Ardbeg, one. I take down the Oban. Nearly half full. Comfort scotch. I also palm the complete guide to single malt scotch. I retreat to my kitchen chair and four year old laptop. Music is needed: A choice to be made.

Decision made, Nirvana: Comfort music. I sit drinking; sipping really. Reading about what the nose will deliver. Sniffing. Realizing, I can smell the sea and a hint of peat. These always make the mouth water. Sipping, again. The palate does taste of seaweed. A brief smile in appreciation. Settling in.

"Come as you are", excellent song. The warmth of a decision well made, and of the scotch embracing throat and stomach; warm. A good book is at hand. It is ever so, and when it ceases to be so, I will wander the streets until my wife drives me home. The book is as essential as the music. Periodic readings between scotch and visits from the baby. The music and the scotch together form a sort of cloud around the head. One of fumes and another of sound. The words swirl and form pictures. They clear away leaving an impression, a distance from the day.

Mountain top moments, can be found between covers, beneath corks, and within clouds of slowly moving smoke. Not the fist pumping mountain top of extreme sports but the sheltered body and deep set eyes of a man too engaged to sleep, just yet. Sitting up, days spent waiting for the sun to set and rise. Mountain tops without Gatorade. Mountain tops with quiet and more absence than presence. Steep paths are single file, climbed alone. Think of Sargent York making his decisions about whether or not to comply. What is right, and what is wrong.

Where was I going with that?
I forgot, but I enjoyed it.
Leaves me feeling like I'm wiggling a loose tooth
still holding on
by a vein
or some thread of meat.
I'm twisting left and right, pushing back, until,
not a snap but a release of tension.
It slowly pulls free.

Leaves me feeling something like that :-)

1 comment:

domboy said...

Oddly, tonight, I poured myself a cheap Grant's and very carefully chose Richard Hawley’s “Last Orders” to listen to, then thought, “What, in this one moment of peace and personal clarity, would please me to read …”

What, I wonder, is "Edge of the Map"?