weeding and writing

its dark when i wake up, turning from dreams, my bed is like a bunk in a cabin on a ship at sea and im rocking rocking rocking like a baby. i take the bike out again, ride fast and quick until my body is warm, the sweat on my lower back, cold. while the world is still sleeping i take a memory tour of who i was and all the big parts of my life are swept up on one bike ride. i dont stop anywhere, i move too quickly to feel anything really. theres nothing left to feel really, its all new and different and a million other adjectives to describe gone.
carissa calls me at 9 after ive gotten back in bed to warm my toes and she needs me to give her a ride to her car, parked behind susies, where she left it at 4pm yesterday afternoon. i drive on empty cause im not going far and slink my way around town with my eyes closed, i know it that well.
this afternoon is pulling weeds from grameres front yard, thick green vines trail along the brick and surround the base of the huge douglas fir in the front yard and im on my hands and knees tearing out roots and digging up rocks and every weed is different, some with long trailing leaves, others short and flat to the ground, hovering out like starfish, some with little yellow flowers, some ugly and spiny and stick to my gloves, my hair, my clothes. i pull them all out, they are stifling the flowers and the ivy, choking the base of the roses. after she lost a lot of plants to the frost in january, the weeds are thriving. its amazing, if you think about it. in the weeds there are thick fat caterpillers and snails, long pink worms and centipedes, i get dirty and sweaty and it feels incredible. i feel like im doing something worthwhile, something good. gramere is almost 90 and is bending over by the sidewalk pulling out weeds, using a shovel to unearth them from the cracks in the curb. she is inspiring, i dont feel lazy here, not one bit.
shes more quiet since aunty lois died, more thoughtful. talks about the past a lot, places they used to go, her husband, old high school friends, where she wanted to travel, trips she did actually take. throughout the day i hear her reference "when youre gone" or "you might need this on your trip" and i realize this is all becoming very very real. its all happening.

what to do the rest of the afternoon? make banana bread? watch an old movie? sit by the fire and do a paint by number i found in grameres ancient desk?

we'll see.