Saturday, January 11, 2025, 22* Still. Quiet. Dark.
And what can I tell you of the last five years?
Dust still gathers as has always done. I can spend hours dusting. That’s unchanged. I don’t do now what I didn’t do then. Dishes washed. Dogs fed. Linens changed. When dog hair gathers, I vacuum again.
Boulders wedge together, a container for land. Chain link holds us three feet from the edge. A red squirrel, several mornings in the same gnarled tree sometimes on deck taunting my three. Camera just out of reach.
No mountains. No hay fields. No view of the road. Wood smoke signals neighbors I don’t know. A trade-off for more light received, there is more noise without leaves. In their season shading, protecting, not giving in, oaks stand firm against fierce howling winds. From laundry room winter, the best water view. Early dawn summer I can photo a beaver or two.
You. You who wanted
to go first, you knew
I could do life
unrehearsed.
Photo: LJ Austin
