No coatrack yet.
But it was a pleasant day, not really one that required a sweater. I
had one on most of the day anyway because I slept in it. Sweet dreams
on a couch last night, away from home. A lot of short white doggie
hairs decorate it now, one of my oldest sweaters.
Back home, sitting cross-legged on the back porch, I note the blue
skies, birdsong, a yellow butterfly flapping by, think this world is
fine. I'd take my sweater and hang it on the coatrack, but it's not
really making me uncomfortably hot anyway. I leave it on and marvel at
colors and sounds.
A day later, a sweater's crumpled on my bookbag. I have to laugh at
life and the day's quirks. Still no coatrack, but I scarcely care upon
arriving home. Sweater wound up being an accessory, unnecessary. Day
was warm, beautiful. Quirks abound during beautiful days. I can count
the several on one hand then start on another...
A final quirk even as I mention that, and slow dive to sleep begins.
The coatrack obsession takes on different forms and guises. I see a
sweater hanging on a tree. I see a tree that grows sweaters, drifting
to dreams that confuse the matter with the essence, churn up
variations from subconscious fires and run with them.
I had to turn the air conditioning on tonight. Does that make the
coatrack more or less relevant?