Watched by cloudless skies, frost painted early morning while trees stood still. We did not linger long in this scene wanting to lie down again or return to things that do not require so much breath.

     I chased the moon from window to window trying to get the best glimpse of her. She was almost to the road winding in and out of trees and then, I lost sight of her. Last night Luna could not be seen at all had I wanted to stand with my face to the deluge of rain looking. From the window seen, gray clouds covered where she might have been. She could also be somewhere playing with the aurora, the celestial lights created by eruptions on the sun. I couldn’t see that either. In my pictures this morning, the moon could be mistaken for a cloud by a casual viewer. Perhaps someone driving to work got an eye full of her.

     I can stand on a step ladder and remove the unit from the ceiling with knees attached by Pinocchio’s strings, new in 1883. I know it is not something I should be doing. Then what? As soon as I have it in my hand another unit begins repeating the same command. I should go sit down with this foreign language thing that speaks one word every 40 seconds with no regard for my mind trying to ignore the staccato command. I should find out how to open its mouth to get the battery out. It has already digested three and still it talks to me. It hasn’t stopped talking in several weeks since my son fed it a new battery, a 10-year supply of energy.

     Zsolt and Zayne burst from their room oblivious to “Easy.” “Don’t Run.” They are willing to “Sit” to “Wait” until the gate is opened then it becomes a race to the door eager to go outside, eager to find Ruger; their energy impervious to rain. Rain that falls without clatter, rain that adds weight to their coats, rain that walks them through mud; rain that provides their first morning drink should they want.

     We don’t miss the cold curtain of rain that used to greet us on days like this as we walk through the door onto the deck. Coming off the roof, that beaded curtain is captured in a box where it lends sound to the morning. Rain enjoys the ride, the slide down the metal tunnel, the rush from the opening that lands it on the ground like a child’s slide.

     So it doesn’t mar the wooden surface, too hot to take a sip, I perch my cup upon the ceramic tile of an imagined bird a rather sad looking creature protecting my desk.

     Today I broke the routine, not accidentally like a cup set precariously on the edge of my desk without looking; I broke the routine intentionally. I got out of bed before it was light, tended to the three. After some arguing with myself about the merits of doing things in order, I decided not to press the button on the coffee maker; I didn’t want it to drip drops of hazelnut into my cup, not yet. The routine had already cracked when I chose a robe instead of jeans, instead of boots and outdoor things.

     To open the door for the three to come and go, I went to the kitchen twice forgetting cinnamon. Frost sides the house, paints the car, makes a slide of the ramp. Only Ruger heeds, “Go Carefully.” Zayne, the athlete pushes off with hind feet wrinkling rugs pulling them from under heavy furniture. Islands of ice glistening, trees jiggle in the pond’s feeding stream. Protected from Soleil’s roaming ways, evergreens hold out snow blossoms I can’t bring inside; I can't place in a pitcher or gather with a ribbon.

     More than once I woke to the sound of the furnace beginning. I should have put more cinnamon in my chocolate hazelnut coffee. Yesterday rain and snow played. If not a spectator at the window, you’d never know snow was allowed to play at all coming in hard and fast then falling back. This and indoor games of puppy dry off continued throughout our day.

     The aroma of chocolate raspberry coffee greets a gray dawn showing off trees without leaves inviting me into a clear view of the placid pond, of trees the beaver cut piled to make a lodge. Nothing moves. Nothing sings. Nothing hums. No wind. No birds. No bees. Gray, brown, evergreen. My three, now asleep, looked for something new from their fenced-in-land as if seeing it for the first time. They called attention to a tree, its blanket of bark long ago slipped away without notice, half the roots displayed as it laid down, dirt no longer holding them.

     A blue-silver sky welcomes clouds. A noise like metal against glass shattered our sleep at 1:48, left us all too startled to rescue our hastily abandoned dreams. Hours later my heart still remembers that harsh awakening.

     Dawn is just discovering the trees, turning off solar lights. I can almost see the top of the fence against receding night. Three times I returned to this room last night, each time to turn off the desk lamp. It has no timer; it takes more than a spider walking across it to press the button to ignite. Three times, this room, the hall, the kitchen were dark, then... this light, round face glowing like a full moon. Ruger, three times as I walked through the house followed me only with his eyes. The Shepherd keeps track of me but does not move. He will come if I need him. It’s only me walking through darkness towards light.