Sunday, October 4, 2009

A Few More Gas Meter Texts


The house is a marvelous, incredibly long log-cabin on V-shaped stilts
in a dense wood, I read the meter-reader notes and finally find the dusty,
yet perfect Rockwell under the suspended driveway where apparently
these wondrous beings store a vast amount of perfectly cut firewood.


For several houses have been hearing an annoying high-pitched
"screee" sound coming from nowhere in particular. I find the owner's
meter in a big butterfly bush and begin the install when a young woman
comes out and asks, "Do you know what that terrible sound is?"
I didn't.


To the left side of a 1960's barn-red bungalow, beside the garage,
is an American gas meter, the talented owner has seen fit to paint
with auto-body paint in gorgeous metal-fleck gray among the rows
of lucifer tongue and crocosmia.


I meet a wonderful 92 year old woman who leads me to her meter.
Her poodle dog has one eye like a glass marble. She tells me
she has lived in that same house for 62 years, and that teenagers
sometime get in her yard, which apparently she doesn't like.


Meet an old man who looks a bit like Nosferatu unfortunately,
but as we stand there together marveling at his incredibly sparky
little dog, we are both nearly moved to tears at the animal's
innocent vivacity. He finally tells me he used to like to read
but now is on a government program that sends him audio books,
and that he likes Westerns, and a genre I was not familiar with,
"Athletic". I must say that after this I had wondrous old-timey visions
of giant swimming pools and people diving and being in
audio novels.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Irrony Observes The Earthing.