#144
Winter days. Sunny but cold. The afternoon warms up. I sit outside and take my socks off while I read and let them warm in the sun. The dog walks the perimeter of the yard. A scent he needs to follow to its conclusion. An orange, ripe or just ready to be released, falls off one of the trees. Earlier, I bought a joint, but I don’t feel like smoking it. The month is long.
The day was too warm. I don’t want the heat to return. I want the cold. I want the heavy duvet on the bed. I want to see my breath. I want clouds and cover. I want to stay home.
Earlier, the dog scratched my head while I was doing yoga. Only happy to see me, to be near me, to let me know that he’s my friend. The scratch, a reminder of the relationship. It will heal.