Thursday, February 6, 2025, -11*
It was dark the first time I opened the door cold rushing into my lungs even though I tried to hold my breath. I stood waiting for them to return trying to remember if my inhaler was on my desk, beside the bed, on the table beside the yellow chair with flowers. The second time I opened the door, there was light. I held the curtain over my nose and mouth as they went out, my inhaler in my pocket.
Coffee pot makes a whirring sound, after a long time, provides cold coffee, not a full cup. Extra strong and over ice buttons should not be so close together. I begin again, Zsolt’s head under my hand. If he were smaller, I would pick him up, snuggle him inside my vest. When he was smaller, independent or angry at being taken away from his clan, he didn’t want to be held or petted.
Not that I have plans to go anywhere; I wonder if my car will start. An ice storm is coming. January 1998, I was sitting upstairs in Bridgton reading listening to things outside breaking when an owl crashed through the window landed dead on the sofa beside me. At some time that night the power went out. For two weeks we listened for news on a transistor radio, melted snow in a canning pot atop the wood stove, went to bed when it got dark.
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation,
by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
Philippians 4: 6-7
Art: LJ Austin
