The
sun was high and I could hardly believe that it was October. I started far away
and drove North to where the part of the lake comes down and meets the world. It’s
mostly private property but inside the long and winding ways you can peak out
and see the sea that is not a sea but I pretend it to be. Ha! There was an
aluminum type boat, like something from the 1970’s, and it was used to ferry
people across the way, to the inward island for some reason. There was a man
driving the boat and a man who was on the boat. Right away I felt strong pangs
of jealousy or something like it that I was not on the boat. I shall have to go
back there when I have time, and ask the man (who was looking at me trying to
figure out if he should wait a minute more in case I wanted to go), to take me on
the boat. How much money, if not free, could it be? I want to go on that boat
and be a passenger going across to an island, one full of dense autumnal trees,
a plethora of color splashed, all golden and red and yellow hued paint strokes
right in the middle of the lake. I must go there. And take pictures and
afterwards notes. How shall I find it, with hardly an inner compass? I shall
find it. Other than that there was a pumpkin farm type of place with what
seemed like twenty different varieties and shapes and sizes, - bold, honestly
huge, acutely small and detailed, medium, - and there was what my grandparents
used to have somewhere and call Indian Corn, so I have a special place in my
heart and memory for such- which they called there ‘decorative corn or stalk’
or something like that. The sun came and let itself out to splash against
everything, - tables, and jars of jams, hay and straw, silos in the sun, - the
rest, - the people the wagons and denim and I paid cash for what I bought. I shall
always remember that part of the sign actually read open from 9: AM until Dusk.
It actually said ‘until dusk’. That is great, and that is the way it should be.
When is dusk? What did the writer say, - the title, - famous- is it John Fante
or the guy after him? - I forget his name, - Go Ask the Dusk. Or is it Go Ask the
Dust? This is a quote from a book by Knut Hamsun, (sp?), called Hunger, -
another famous book- where he questions I think why he loves a woman and says,
- Go Ask the Dust. But I am partial to Dusk, and though I never read either
book, or even saw a physical copy of either book, - I thought that it would all
have been better if someone asked the DUSK something. There is nothing like it.
And that sign, - OMG. Well, there was the water, and there were not many people
around. Old farms and houses,- don’t be deceived, the middle class is long
gone,- and these must be worth a couple million- or the smallest one half of
one million or three quarters- don’t be fooled if the white porch or whatnot is
not painted this year,- they don’t need to, lol. The sun remained high, - and I
saw some graveyards, but one of them was new, and for this reason lacked
character. A grave yard to be anything must be at least a few decades old, and
of course the older the better. What else? Verdant parks, - sandy beaches, -
dirty but still beautiful river rock, - the idea of seagulls, which are
beautiful and garbage birds at once. Rural people (make of that what you will),
- and slowly, ever so slowly the sun begins a descent, - and the dusk is
crowning, - beginning to be borne. I loop back, - I am starving for a coffee, -
am unromantic in my longing for more clearly marked ways and stores. I loop
back. I don’t have all the petrol in the world or a little house by the lake
that I pretend is the sea.
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