Garage Enigma

It’s impossible to stay any length of time in the garage without feeling lonely – which I am not, only crowds bring me loneliness. At one time, I had planned to drink a bottle of bourbon, and smoke an expensive cigar in that garage, then blow my brains out. That was when the cancer diagnosis dropped into my lap like a dead bird. I wallowed in a hissy-pool of self-pity until I sensed that even the lonely garage begged me to shut the hell up. We have mice, and sparrows, the mice live quietly raising mousy pipsqueaks that pip and squeak behind deeply piled boxes. The sparrows are peripatetic, coming and going at will, don’t ask how, it’s a mystery. The garage has this one mood that does not change with the seasons. It makes space for me despite the lack of room. It sighs when I sigh, It casts a mirroring shadow, makes that shadow whisper into my ears. Waits patiently for me to say something out loud then it gets quiet, a sense of being found, but still lost steals over me. It’s then, at those times, I still wish for a good smoke and a bottle of Kentucky moonshine.