messy with hearts.
i was running late and the wind was running windy and the heater was once again on. it was (and still is) no flowers in the house, and very few outside, but there was a blue blue cloudless sky outside the windows making it more than okay. it was (and still is) the doors not open, and it was sunshine and too chilly rolled together. it was two hackberry leaves nestled together, a small upside down heart, a bit of romance left over from fall, dangling from an empty limb tangled with wisteria vines. by early afternoon, they were gone.
i'd been up before 4, unable to sleep, achy, finding the couch and a coke and blueberry eggos, and calling them sanctuary. russell crowe was on the television, and i let him lull me back to sleep, and awake again, and sleep again. finally, truly up and off to work, the windy wind blew the door open and closed, and open and closed, or, as i said on twitter,
the wind keeps blowing the door open and closed
open and closed open and closed open and closed open and closed.
i need an ativan.
i should have inserted a few exclamation points.
lunch was a granny smith apple and pepper jack cheese and a yowling cat who could not believe i would rather pay bills than play with her, no matter how much i tried to explain to her it wasn't a matter of rather. it was paladin on the television, sound up because paladin knows all and quotes poetry and speaks french, and once translated a calamity jane pulp novel into latin whilst bored on a train. it was cold toes inside leather boots. when i stepped outside to head back to work, katie was sprawled under the sun, taking it in - i was wearing a coat along with those boots.
just one of those days.
this morning looks much the same, minus wind, plus louder birdsong. east is somewhere off to my right and the sun, as always, breaks through the trees and lays stripes across the street before making its way to our yard. we are still in shadows. where those leaves were yesterday, sparrows are today. the sunlight is hitting the christmas lights that still hang from my neighbor's porch, golden icicles, thursday almost spring morning. silhouettes of cardinals, church steeple behind the still leafless trees, the sun beginning to top the paperwhites.
another day begins.
i'll take it.