Mercedes is sinking like a stone at the (reservoir) wrote in repose,
Re: In the trees: Mercy/David
Mercy’s smile came back in a wider, brighter shift at a line that he recognized, so that his eyes creased a little at the outer corners. “This is what I am made of, this and a terror.” An exchange. He’d given Neruda for Plath and now the reverse; he meant, ’I hear you’. I see you. Two men in the trees who were not all they seemed.
“Ode to Age,” he offered. “That’s always been my favourite.” The soles of his Converse dug into the topmost layer of soil as he leaned his weight back a little more, and the ridges of bark caught on his sweatshirt just enough that he felt a cool breath of air against the skin at the small of his back. He didn’t mind the chill.
“That makes two of us,” he said, a dry respite. He’d had enough of groups to last a lifetime. He worked with cars because the parts could only fit together so many ways, and they only rarely gave him attitude. His degree sat on his desk in the garage’s office, an expensive paper weight, because he didn’t want to teach. Classroom politics were almost as bad as a wolf pack.
Closed eyes for half a minute while he turned over the question. He slid one heel in a half-moon shape through the detritus of nature on the ground. “I don’t know yet. Can I watch with you?”