Yesterday the power went out mid-afternoon and we ate a simple supper by the fire in lamplight. I went to bed early, trying to read with two little gadgets clipped to my book, small beams of light on the page. When I woke, power back on, John brought me coffee in bed and I heard the news about Reverend Raphael Warnock’s Senate win in Georgia and Jon Ossoff’s lead as the count resumed this morning. I opened my birthday gifts and we went off for a swim. Coming home, it was to the news that a mob incited by the President of the United States had breached barriers and were storming into the Capitol building.
The year ahead is like an unknown river, full of beauty and turbulence. Do we stand on the shores, wondering and timid, do we enter the water, do we swim, do we cling to the rocks, do we help each other, do we drift, do we sink?
I can’t stop listening to the news. On the counter prawns are thawing for a birthday dinner, a bottle of Chablis is chilling, garlic waiting to be peeled and minced to stir into melted butter. There’s even a small cake, glazed with ganache. On the table, white tulips delivered by dear friends.
In the night, boughs came down from the fir trees, a small dogwood fell across the driveway. Creeks swollen by heavy rains rush down the mountain. Chickadees and nuthatches dart from feeder to the twisted wood of the wisteria trained over a beam across our patio.
I can’t stop listening to the news.