A man I know is planning a great salt spirit uprising. I think the power of it will scatter the empty peanut butter jars all over the floorboards of his darkened cabin. There he goes, planting Ghandi seeds, towing thin tendrils of truth through the red dust of Australia, and all I see is a torrent of green Skippy Bear lids, bouncing violently over rough grains in the wood.
I remember the time he showed me his Green Man outift, a camouflage-flecked, nylon jumpsuit with limp, fabric leaves hanging off it. His whole body disappeared inside it, and it looked to me like he had been rolled in autumn undergrowth and deep fried.
Frosty Leaves
7 hours ago
1 comment:
Les! Sigh. Wherever he is, I hope no one is scaring him with a switch comb.
Once, when I worked in the info centre Les used our bathroom and we heard him repeatedly flushing the toilet. When he finally came out, his hair was slicked back. He gave us a wild-eyed nod and then he was gone, little bell still ringing for what seemed like forever after he'd closed the door.
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