farawayness

What it is to be happy, feels so sweet. Sort of surprising, to suddenly just feel so happy. A cloudy Sunday night, the moon rose while I was inside. And then walking across the quad again, the grass glistens beneath the patchy sky.

But it's not even that. It's not that things look pretty tonight. It's just that feeling of being happy to be somewhere -- to be here. Or perhaps maybe just happy to be. To be.

It's a very simple feeling, disarmingly simple. And I think it's probably as much of a point as I can gather from all of this. And I'll just take a couple of moments to taste it. First the sweetness on the tip of my tongue and then bitterness at the back, then the whole mix of it. All of it.

It feels the same way when I'd leave work, storm up Mass Ave, then to Dupont, turn the corner on the Circle and find the jazz band. Blazin' away, jammin' true, trumpets and trombones in front of the doughnut shop. Finding a stranger to dance with before filing underground, a small smile waiting for the Red Line.........listening to the people's stories of the day and the night.

An orange tea pot, like my old Grandma's saucepan, as bright as orange can be. Lady Grey tea, yes, some milk, and sit out on that old rotten wooden balcony, watching the birds rustling up in the eaves.

Seeking out the bearded musicman downstairs, see his painted drums and guitar amidst the dirty laundry. Sit and watch the looping machine, sippin' Blue Moon and taking photos of socks a'drying on a fan.

We all left the house, I was the last to leave. And I'm here now, faraway from all that. My, tonight is sweet though, despite our interminable farawayness.