Spaces

Ever since I was very young I've been in love with spaces.
Finding a birds nest puts me in wonder for long moments. Staring upward and getting into the mind of the birds.
In the blackberry bushes we used dad s rose clippers to hollow out spaces in the thorny vines, borrowing until the walls and ceilings were an impenetrable fortress of spikes and orb weaving spider webs.
Gary and I made a space under the stairs when I was sixteen. Moving suitcases and Mom's nostalgia boxes, behind coats and snow clothes we pulled in blankets and Christmas lights. A single electrical cord betrayed our secret until Gary burrowed a hole in the wall to the garage where we could hide without detection. We pulled in a tiny television and bought a cheap DVD player and I watched The Royal Tenebaums and Amelie, buring a thick fog of incense. Gary used the space to hide with friends.

I used to sleep in the closet. Dad shamed me but I did it anyway. I loved the spaces. The nooks. I once kissed a pretty girl and on my runs would find places under the boughs of thick trees and among Oregon grape I could take her and we could kiss more.
(image here)

Tree fort coffee table photo books interrupt my contribution to friendly banter.