My daily life is about to change for the next three months as the Legislature convenes next Monday and I resume a semi-solitary existence. Will I write more? Organize the garage? Catalog the stars in the night sky? Pile walnut and hackberry deadfall in my fire pit on still, quiet nights in this small Midwestern city and let the flames dance with my shadow on the back side of our house, newly painted just this past summer?
Yes to all, of course.
In the fields, the hard winter wheat is patient in the prairie earth. The gulls still think this is their ocean, they patrol the wheat as they once did the sea. The snow vanishes almost as fast as it came. The wind may, or may not, have decided from which direction it will tumble the huge cloud-like pillows across the sky.
No wildlife in view tonight. No geese, no coyote, no foxes. The plush clouds are as close as anything comes, animated by the north wind, fed by the damp earth, groaning in their rush to overtake the sky. I drink them in, they circle once then head south, I lean back into that January wind to my warm, empty kitchen.
We had a couple of drinks and decided it would never work out but agreed to remain friends.
what happened to the time when you went home with mars?