March 1st, 2016, Tuesday - Observation

Observation

The snow is mostly gone.

The sky was lighting at six in the morning; when I left for work.

There was a fresh dust of white on the ground, that disappeared in the first few hours of morning.

The green is coming to my lawn, pushing past the pale yellow blades, the gray and brown remnants of leaves, the twigs fallen from the apple tree.

My cat followed the white tail of rabbit with her eyes; as she rested on the couch, by the window bay, lucid, and dreaming of the hunt.

It is election day in Minnesota, caucus day, and there is a pensive energy in the air.

I am for Hillary, but I think most of my town is for Bernie.

I think Minnesota will go hard left as well.

My cat does not care, she wants to share my chicken.

February 1st, 2016, Monday

It is dark outside, and I am thinking.

The grain of wood beneath the palms of my hands is comforting. They rest on the edge of my desk as my fingers are arched upward and hover the keys of the key board, fingertips intermittently striking downward as I compose those thoughts.

I am writing.

I am writing about a moment in time.

It is morning, 5:45.

I have been awake for hours.

It is dark outside.

I sweetened my coffee with brown sugar.

I am preparing to leave for work, not actually preparing, but mentally. Soon I will get up from this chair, get dressed and go, but that is not this moment.

In this moment I am thinking.

Awake, and the world is turning on its axis…as usual.

January 19th

The news is coming out of the television-background noise-chatter.

Presidential politics, and a new relationship with Iran, ancient Persia…warm coffee on my desk in a tall, yellow painted mug. My gray and white, tawny, tabby cat is watching me, as she usually does this time of day; 4:00 am, when I am sitting at my desk; writing. I lean back in my chair, and reach for my hoodie. It is chilly in the room, and I need an extra layer. As the radiators come to life, hissing and spitting steam. The house had just hit the low point in the heating cycle. It is below zero in the January morning. The thermostat told the furnace to turn to turn on; such small devices, with so few moving parts, that you can hardly call them machines. They sense the temperature, and trigger a flow of electrons along a thin copper wire, sending them down into into the basement, to the gas main, where the flow of gas is increased in the giant, asbestos covered octopus. The flame comes to life and the water in the boiler-boils, steam rises up through expanding clanking pipes, whistling through the valves.

Kitty is always interested in the sound of the house warming up. She turns away from me.