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Show 201 BODIES OF WATER This one begins on my street in Salt Lake City, which used to be under water. With the thick fall air circling my body, that fact makes sense to me right now. The neighborhood is quiet and my vision isn't perfect so when I stand still it feels something like floating on open water. Night as a lake of water that floods the world is a metaphor that's been used before, but it has always tasted right to me. I am too anchored and predictable in my route to make a fair comparison to flotsam, but sometimes when farthest from my house it feels like I could float all night, the houses and fences driftwood around me. I could flow through all of Salt Lake City this way. Three nights ago on a dark rum I stepped on the body of a dead bird. I knew as soon as I did that whatever was underneath my foot was too firm to be a slick pile of leaves, and felt a rush of panic up my spine. I leaned over and saw the shadow of the bird's trampled body and thought for a moment that I had killed the bird with my weight. I talked myself out of it, but not before taking off and walking briskly for several blocks. When I talked myself into walking back, I moved the body under a spotlight with my foot as gently as I could. I went home and brought a shovel back to bury it. I don't know what usually happens to dead birds-maybe dogs take off with them, maybe they just |
