30/2021

30/2021

Yesterday evening after supper — after I cleared the dishes and loaded the dishwasher — after I stopped to quickly fold a load of laundry that had finished drying — after I put it away — I headed toward the backdoor to join the fellas outside for a few minutes. John Henry was swimming in our tiny pool and H. was working away, but he was at least enjoying the dwindling daylight and cicada song on what had been a mercilessly hot Tuesday. I swear it feels like July 39th.

As I pulled the door toward me to step down the two steps to our patio, I carried my phone under my left wing, my dog Willie under my right wing (he’s used to it and quite likes it there), a glass of sauvignon blanc in my left hand, and a wadded up ball of used fabric softener and grey and white speckled lint in my right. 

Step, step, step, step to the worn out sofa that sits under the covered area. I began to set everything down on the little table in front of the spot that I thought looked welcoming. The phone, the dog, the wine, and then I opened my right hand.

Sometimes you don’t know what you’ve been carrying until you start to release it.

Sending love everywhere.

AM

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