in my childhood home and bedroom, the curtains and bedspread of my room were cool shades of blues and greens, and the occasional sweep of midnight headlamps across the wa’l is in memory blue as well.

my sister’s room and my parents’ room also had color-matched drapes and bedspreads, Suzy’s being pinks and mauves to my folks’ golden and yellow.

I somehow ended up with my sister’s bedspread and just washed it today. It, and those other, similar, lost pieces of cloth that accompanied it into our home well over forty years ago, are awfully cool and restrained. Modern. Made to last.

The blue sweep of those eleven o’clock headlights over the wall and ceiling of my room won’t outlast the chemical activity in my brain, of course. I’m not sure what it meant to me at the time, that I should keep it so clearly in mind. I do know that I had frequent and varied nightmares in that room and many others. I would guess that I found that luminous precession menacing and portentous.

There’s a late night state of mind I rarely find accessible anymore which I associate with observing those lights. I suppose I’m glancingly close to it as I write this, tonight.