An evening in November
Wife scraping on the bathroom, carving out a more beautiful place. The black dog sleeps next to me, exhausted from a three mile loop around Huntland Heights. Atlas Sound is making sounds out of my tinny computer speakers. Frames from a trip out West are meandering their way online, taking longer than most things do these days.
Out back, grass seed is rooting in the soil (we hope), and the first November air sweeps away the last of the stifling oven air. Summer will and won’t be missed.
A full, deep breath and a passing spark about the fragile quickness of life will follow me to bed. But it’s full a full life, isn’t it? When my fickle thoughts tell me in the yellow morning that it’s going fast, remind me that it’s full.
