Each morning I get up and feed the beasties. The dog has her breakfast of sweet potato and cottage cheese. She slops the curds over the rim of her bowl, trying to ignore them while rooting for the potato. The cats have their kibble and fresh water. The crows have crusts of bread or corn. I brew coffee and drink some juice.
I moved my desk to the southwest corner upstairs. From this vantage, I assess the clouds and guess the weather for the day. Rain, I think, wind. I watch the quail family bob and fret on the hill. I notice the brass icon nailed up to the fence post years ago. I turn on the lamp. I uncap my pen.
Maybe problems are never solved, only outgrown as we change time zones. I dreamt of boarding a train and changing my socks. I left the corporate world after 25 years and only now do I begin to hear my own thoughts. I sleep late yet still wake, startled, wondering what obligations are stacked in the day, what problems wait like sinister fish in black water. I look at the clock in the dark.