Forlorn Swimmers

Can women senesce? Perhaps to assume that the etymology of a word limits its meaning is a bit narrow-minded. We grow old in our own ways--these men and women, these unidentifiables, these unquantifiables, these lovers who find no time but for each other:

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

The mystique Yeats retains even when he is being sentimental. I can feel the changes as this plasma of "growth" crawls through vascular shunts and through pillowy capillary beds during this warm Autumn Augustan day. What are the signifiers of Fall? Long-sleeved shirts without jackets, slightly bitten-worn and chapped lips, warm wind mixed with the exhaust of sighing buses and slanted afternoon light, and well, I don't know what else. I feel like I have a story to tell. Perhaps I will offer one later.

The Woods

Down by the water is a well, but the well is useless. Instead the bucket that is tied to the well is of use. Villagers (or is it townspeople?) come down to the shore to wash their red and swollen feet among the pebbles that never seem to wear away into sand, but history tells them otherwise.

When a word is repeated, mouthed, a woodland of that word is created. Imagine a tree shapely curiously like that word spring up, then up and then another up. Woorly wooden warders wander whippedly washing winter wools.

I went to see Sleater-Kinney on Wednesday; it was their last show ever in New York. Euphemistically called a hiatus, the band is breaking up. Oh they were so lovely and played with such lovely aggression. Lovely loveliness are they. It's as if it were Chicago at Night. There is no disadvantage, no second languages here.