table broke - now i can see the truth. without pictures.

against the blue of this morning's sky, a squirrel's silhouette tightropes the telephone wire and i begin to write.  i mistype that as rite and almost leave it, a perfect truth disguised as mistake.  namaste twenty twelve.  january 4th.  a small day begins.

no leaves block my view.  another squirrel's shadow circles the trunk of an oak tree across the street.  a small bird drops onto a limb of the hackberry, in perfect time with one last small falling leaf.  it is dull out there, and quiet, all faded greens and the gray of a sweatshirt as a student heads off to school.  chilly with sunshine, i think, and laugh, thinking chili with sunshine sounds like something i would eat with a spoon and a smile.   

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true story:  the new year began with a broken table leg, said table still upside down on the living room floor, still healing, but ready to be righted.  when it broke and i couldn't fix it, when it proved to be beyond my skills and tools and strength, when i could see what needed to be done but couldn't do it, i fell to tears and swearing, though neither helped.  there was a moment when i tried to drag the thing through the front door, sick of it, tired of the poorness it represented, but it fought back, wanting to stay - it grew too heavy and one of the good legs caught in the doorway and i just finally stopped and let it be.  swept around it and let it be.  accepted i would need help. accepted i would have to wait.  exhausted, i finally took a nap  - skye cat crawled up into the bed with me, laid her head on my shoulder and fell asleep.

a life lesson.

a recap of last year.

sometimes you have no control.

break a leg.

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