Not frozen in place, slowly with more effort the door slid open releasing three into minus degrees. Need to find my inhaler. Hot coffee is an efficient stand-in with some self-talk, I’ve done it before but the maker grrs drips maybe 2 ounces of tepid brown water into my cup. I could pour hot water over a strainer of coffee to make a cup; choose the instant I use as flavoring for stews to add an earthy touch. I could drive to the corner store where I bought morning coffee last summer brought it and pumpkin bread home and sat on the porch. Too much snow out there now. I’ve already put away my rocking chair. I could add cream to the coffee I have, pour it over ice. Maybe on a summer morning, not now. Better to pour filtered water into the stove top percolator, maybe mix 2 flavors of coffee together. I seldom use the stove - heat rising sets off the smoke detector. In everything there is a story. This is mine, this below zero morning with the temperature falling.

     Ruger comes in as the Danes go out drinks water while laundry is sorted out. Forgot to press start or had I noticed earlier—there’s no coffee pot. A warning barked at 1 again at 3. Didn’t get up, nothing for me to see. Dark even with a torch. Perhaps those tracks going from the pallet of sand to my car and back, perhaps those creatures were about. Perhaps something else came from the tangle of brush pushed against the rocks holding this land. Not a night to sleep in peace. Some creatures sleep during the day in their dens. I have a den.

     Dropped the red, the blue, the orange perm rods into a plastic bag moving to the music of Ruger drinking water. Earlier he backed into a bench knocking over two boxes of Christmas. Watched snowflakes dance in porch bulb light looking more like tiny white flying things of summer. Set knives from dishwasher on counter to sharpen, soon realized I’d forgotten to push the start button. Furnace hums along. Refrigerator makes ice returns to silence. Still in process of becoming home, more pictures on the walls yesterday. Not each one hung stayed. A matter of balance, of color, of warmth, of speaking to me in the moment saying “welcome, come inside, relax.” These will stay. I felt calm seeing them this morning.

     Hadn’t moved. Hadn’t removed compression gloves, but as soon as I opened my eyes into darkness, not quite awake but getting there, the three began talking. How do they know I’m awake? I know dogs have better vision but two are in their room; and as far as I know, they can’t see through walls. Opening my eyes must be like turning on lights. This mystery I will not question. “Knowing” is a gift so much more than perception.

     If I were not holding my breath, if I exhaled circles -- carbon dioxide would be visible, float for a while, disperse, perhaps freeze, fall, shatter. I was holding my breath I can only suppose. Would a tripod extend its legs coming out here? Would a shutter release? Would hands clasp; fingers refuse to move? Luna runs through the sky; to meet her lover? To evade Soleil? Perhaps she thinks Mariah chases her today.

Sunday, January 12, 18* Moon setting

Saturday, January 11, 2025, 22* Still. Quiet. Dark.

Friday, January 10, 2025, 22* Warm

Thursday, January 9, 2025, 17* Gray, Dusting of Snow

Wednesday, January 8, 2025, 15* Wind, Sun

Tuesday, January 7, 2025, 11* Dark

Monday, January 6, 2025, 7* Sun Rising