Thursday, December 22, 2016

Solstice, Egg Nog, and Amonite

A diamond file cuts into the backside of an amonite fossil that he will install in a mosaic. The fossil spirals out from a center, an origin set in mystery, followed by a life expanding outward to a clear, finite end. While ruminating on this, he hears rain. It's raining in the desert, on this the shortest day of the year. The clouds mute what light does make it under the roof over his porch. Fine dust from the amonite drifts down onto his blue jeans, one of two pair that are still presentable enough for wearing to work. The acrylic mastic has left a white stain already. It won't come out, even after washing. The pants are likely toast anyway. That, he will worry about later. All that matters now is today, this task at hand, the movement of his hands in which he holds the file, applying the sharp teeth to the back of a once living thing made stone. That monument to what once was will hang on his wall, testifying to a life caught in a snapshot. The powder of it drifts down settling on his leg, piling up there like a fine dusting of snow. The rain will likely turn to snow tonight. He takes a break to sip his egg nog, and the glutinous texture reminds him of the flesh long gone of the little cephalopoda now framed in a stone grid, a narrative, held, for now, frozen, for anyone with eyes to see.

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