Most days, I consider myself lucky. Lucky that I have a warm home to fall asleep in, a family who shelters me from other kinds of storms, and friends who swoop in and take me to the movies on my off-days. But other days, there's a restlessness that sets in that accompanies words like "last ditch effort" or "the jumping-off place." (This restlessness is also shadowed by fantasy runaway trips to places like Vienna or Bali or Missoula, Montana.)
But right here, right now, I am content to be up early, listening to the wind howling around the house and bending the limbs of the trees around themselves. I'm content to watch the fire consume itself in my hearth, and the hot coffee (and the idea of coffee) reside on my table next to me. And the dogs, the sleepy-eyed dogs who lift their heads only momentarily in wonder about why I'm even awake when it's still so painfully dark outside. Today's about staying put, enjoying a moment to myself, getting another half a cup of coffee.
P.S. Happy Birthday, Sylvia Plath and Dylan Thomas...may you toast each other in Heaven's "poet-corner."
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