Drift Away

Today, I found an old, abandoned little house, hidden under years of twisted and tangled vines. Recalling that old idiom, “curiosity killed the cat”, I peeked inside, since, well, I’m not a cat, this knowledge providing me with a false sense of security. I glanced about for snakes, critters, holes in the floor, falling ceilings and serial killers and found none. A battered old table stood in the middle of a tiny kitchen. On top was spread a yellowing newspaper, opened as if someone was in the middle of reading it, and an old stained coffee mug, just waiting to be refilled. This made me wonder if someone had just stepped outside for a moment and never made it back. Or, maybe, they’d left in a hurry, running late for work. Or perhaps, this was their little vacation house and they thought they’d be back the next weekend, but never found the time. It was an unsettling thought and I didn’t like it. I hate changes of any kind and never coming back home, well, that’s a big one. I looked around for a photograph, wanting to connect a face with this little house, but found none. There were other things, though; an old blanket, a pair of old boots, an aspirin bottle, a stack of magazines, a toothbrush. I pulled the door closed as best I could and headed home. I was pretty sure I’d left a book I was reading and my coffee cup sitting on the table and I was suddenly anxious to return to them because, one day, I won’t. Give me the beat boys and free my soul. I wanna get lost in my rock and roll and drift away……..