abstract lenticular clouds atop Erebus
den + dresser
The window frame in my room is not quite true, and even mild winds whistle mournfully; the drafts stir my bed curtains. I have what technically passes for a four-poster: the metal corners of the frame reach up a foot or so, and the sheets I tacked to the ceiling enclose my small sleep-cave.
I elected to work the day shift first this year, which will hopefully grease the wheels for doing lots of music. But I felt significant pangs as a crowd of good people departed for the night shift this weekend. We'll always have Saturday night...
A set of drawers contain my minimal and tidy possessions, yet incongruously sprouts an increasingly unwieldy collection of hoarded luxuries and scavenged detritus. There are notes on Post-Its on notes, a teetering pile of books and old magazines, a gnarled chunk of ginger root, wine glasses and colored pencils and maple syrup and balls of yarn of varied autumnal hues. The raw materials of my temporary domesticity are close at hand, uncannily like props on a stage in their organic disorder.
Training is nearly complete, and soon I'll drive those regular runs out to the airfield, this time with an aux cord and my own music. I'll still tune in to the Armed Forces Network radio broadcast of awful Top 40 for entertainment and to keep up with the kids these days, but not until after I've listened to First Aid Kit's "Emmylou" 147 times in a row.
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