To leave or not to leave

I'm pausing. I'm alone (except for Mr. fuzzy). Light, at 4:55 pm, slides through the glass scattering in shards over my arm, the table, the baked grass on the slope across the creek. Fall Equinox.
I hear Mr. fuzzy munching on Iams.

SanDisk digital card reader sits plugged ready for me to toss another batch of pixels into the Internet. Look what I did, did you see? Black nail polish, a toothbrush and rosin. My bag sits in the Prelude, packed for Half Moon Bay. Spontaneous leaving, again, to drink, to smoke, to look, maybe see. To kiss, to question, to play music.

To leave or not to leave. There is a question. Whether tis nobler for the spirit to suffer ....
I was going to parallel Hamlet but I'm too bummed.

waiting.... or leaving. That is the story. Kevin Drew Says: don't get addicted to beginnings. I did that, and cigarettes, and online feedback. I think Kevin Drew smokes too. And night flights from Danville in the little blue car blasting the music of the day/week/month.

After take-off you let go. Sometimes I pray and offer myself up to the universe. I see it all moving at once like a movie or the insides of a watch. Red glow streams away, white stars inundate towards, the sources echo above. I see a hawk watching us rushing.

I see you feeding, deer. You look up with huge eyes brilliant in any given light.
I see the sun rise smoldering Diablo's crest: the hills are ashen below.

Then the come down and I am parched by waking to the afternoon sun. Heat shocking me away, dry with carbon remnants lining the lungs. Ah, there's the rub.

What about a life of constant safe-keeping. To know by the air it is morning, to know the red and white streams as lullabies, not alarm calls. To step into the storming heat face to the brilliance and water the plants. Instead of crawling under dark sheets, with exhaustion's gasp.

Remember, though, how the sun rises to the eyes after a long darkness. Like a shock, like a miracle, like a phoenix.