Solitary

everyone tucked away in bed but me,

I peeled my apple with the little paring knife

and ate it,

drank the hot sweet tea

the only stars visible in all of Brooklyn tonight were these bright sparks amid the books

Damp, Dark, Dreary, and Chilly...

is the weather forecast for today.




My favorite sort of day, it makes me happy to imagine myself later this afternoon, solitary, an hour or two just for writing.

What else makes me happy:

Chores done (a very humble sort of happiness): the washing machine humming in the kitchen, the last dishes drying on the rack in their neat row, bean soup simmering away on the stove, challah dough set for its third rising, perhaps even a cake in the oven?...

Warmth: first fire of the season, the soft pink cashmere slippers I crocheted for myself, a fresh pot of chicory coffee, the hiss of heat from the radiators...

Family: Hedgie home from school, her little rubber boots drying by the hall radiator, companionably curled on the sofa with her new Septimus Heap book, occasionally reading a passage aloud to me...and finally, Sarge's footsteps on the stair, a sound I wait for each evening...and Hedgie flinging her book aside and rushing to throw herself at him--"daddy!!!!" "oof! Right in the breadbasket!" he says and hugs her back...and kisses me...

Not every single day is so sweet, of course, but surprisingly often, now, they are. Today will be that sort of a day, I can feel it in my bones.

Note: lest anyone think I'm being a bit too precious here, and in the interest of strict truth, I feel compelled to add that my roof is leaking into the living room, and so all this domestic bliss is accompanied by a steady little drip--drip--drip of rusty water into a pot...see, I'm nothing if not scrupulously honest...