You sit with your coffee, listening, listening, and what you thought was a warbler singing was the wind chimes turning in the morning air.
Yesterday, driving down the Coast, you saw a man sitting in the trees quite close to your house. Returning, hours later, you saw him in a different place, sitting back against a huge duffle bag. He was no one you knew. You woke in the night from a dream, barely a dream, in which he was shining a flashlight into your bedroom, and it was like the light coming on 3 nights ago when a bear was breaking into the compost box near the motion light mounted on the printshop, and when you came out next morning, the bear’s paws were printed in mud on the car door. This morning, what will you find by the window?
Your computer died a quiet death. When you walk by your study, there’s a space on the desk where it used to wait, tiny ikons on top, a shell, a fragment of lapis lacedamonius your daughter brought you from the Peloponnese on its surface.
2 thoughts on “tous les jours”
Oh my gosh, that second one has me worried. Gosh, you are such a fine writer. I’ll quit saying so (I hope) but you have me pondering the possibilities.
Perhaps I need those wind chimes to work their magic.
Thanks, Diane. It’s eerie to have those dreams where one is almost awake. I looked around this morning and only found a very large pile of bear scat under a fig tree…