outwait outrun outwit





TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile


08.30.21


It seems like all I did this month was go away, again and again. While I was away last week, the green around the star fort was finally cut. It had grown shaggy all spring and summer, braided with buttercups and dandelions and cat's eye and vetch and clover, crisscrossed by desire lines shaped by human itineraries and wanderings. The cuttings had been packed into three large round bales, high as my shoulder, among which teenagers hung out, staring into their phones. Today the bales were gone, as well as the teenagers, now school-bound.

I have grown shaggy too. All that going-away. Weedsome and feather-strewn, unaccustomed to the song of hungry blades. Underneath all that, a mystery.






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