#110
Do you ever take mushrooms, I asked.
Her: like the psychedelic kind?
Yeah.
The day had worn on into a dusty sunset. Warm for this time of year. Overhead, fighter jets landed at the airport. The dog, freshly bathed sat in a ball of fluff watching the trees for landing birds.
Her: once, when I was in college. I think they were old or something, I didn’t see anything. I just kind of remember feeling dizzy. Why?
Oh, no reason.
Earlier, I had taken the last of the ones I had in the fridge. Maybe enough to feel something, anything at all, this afternoon. To break through the dusty haze of the air and my mind. We drank the last of a bottle of red that I’d been nursing for a few days.
Her: do you have any more?
Inside, in the corner of the guest room. Open anything you want.
Later, when she’d left, the other bottle barely touched, I poured another glass. Did some online shopping and started some dinner. The dog was dry by now, the air was still warm for this time of year. The haze had lifted slightly. Was it enough?
I opened the front door, the windows, the house needed air. The dust outside had settled. I washed it off my face. Looked in the mirror. The dinner needed tending to. The house felt serene. My mind left outside in the garden, the full moon rising over the eastern mountains, the day behind me, the night to come. Feeling far more multiple and promiscuous than seems allowed.