Memoirous

 Big Cabin   I’ve been reading poetry from Ron Padgett, his book Big Cabin from Coffee House Press. “Timex Blur”— I was going to complain about how irritating it is to have to change one’s clock twice a year and not understand why, but sunlight just came down and hit the pond and my brain at the same time.   And, borrowing, from another poet, Emily Dickinson, there’s a certain slant of light. It is jarring, that one hour difference. Suddenly I am out at a “time” I’m normally doing something else; the routine is altered. For example, last night after the switch to Standard Time, I rode home in the dark on my bike. Luckily my lights were juiced up. Also—not quite dark—coming down my street with the hazy dim and dark pines over the roadway there was a certain slant of light, a new perspective which stood out in contrast to only a day before. It was always there? Or was I afforded a view brought together by “the switch” and the elements of weather an...