|
THE YURT |
|
by Charles Carreon
the yurt is round (when I built it three years ago my fellows in the grocery store took this as final proof of what they'd suspected all along, i.e. terminal weirdness) at any rate it is round, a round latticework of two-by two's number one select fir, free of knots -- rough pine siding and plain old composition roofing in the center of the cone shaped ceiling there's a domed skylight; the whole house is like an eye and the sun is always peering in In the morning in winter it rises, shining just above the kitchen counter, an ellipse of light on the blue fabric of the wall At around ten it shines on the breakfast table, while dishes get picked up and the second cup of coffee gets cold Around noon there's a circle of light on the floor in front of the trapezoidal-shaped front door our friends and we all hate (Matthew calls it the ankle buster, and it is) and so the sundial gives us a con- stant reading on the day till at last the light slides up the roofbeam toward the sunset, probably behind some clouds
appendix a: things you might find outside the yurt
Peach pits Old nails, half embedded in mud fragments of white plastic spoons remains of a rodent waylaid by cats the cats -- Mellow Yellow, a friendly fellow whose mild manner belies his skill as a successful carnivore, and Grey Cat, a self-satisfied shorthair who avoids human company An oak chopping block with the bark still on it A very small woodpile with a gimcracky rain-cover made of scraps and those thin, aluminum offset plates the Tidings sells for thirty cents A fifty gallon tank of water (lasts four days) A bunch of sunflower heads hung up in burlap on the end of a roof beam Whatever the wind blew out from under the house Coffee grounds coming out of the drain A little comfrey plant
|
