A world away

Finally, a Spring morning warm and uneventful enough to invite Angel (the dog) and me immediately outdoors to greet the rising sun. Other recent mornings may have been as warm at this hour, but somehow none has felt as warm and welcoming.

Plus, Younger Daughter’s officially out of school now. No point in waiting around to make sure she’s up and then to see her off, she’ll not make an appearance for hours yet.
Put the pool up yesterday, between raindrops. Another magnet pulling us out to meet the day.

So here we are again, Angel and I, out back on our Little House porch. Just yards (a backyard) away from the big house, but a world away from Linda Pastan‘s “riptide of daily life, hidden but perilous.” Me: sipping coffee, measuring the hour by Sol ‘s transit above the hammock, between the trees (the one on the right bearing that “HOME” sign)…watching last night’s raindrops slowly evaporate… listening to birdsong… waiting for a whisper from a muse, any muse. She: waiting for her walk, patiently for now but soon with a whimper and whine.

Pastan’s line is echoed this morning by John Cheever: “…we are suspended above [chaos] by a thread. But the thread holds.” Until it doesn’t. But out here on our porch, chaos seems far enough way to ignore for a bit. Out here there’s no temptation to check the headlines or anyone else’s status updates. Our status: calm, composed, watching, waiting, thinking and not thinking, anticipating, at home.

6:30/5:35, 65/89, 7:54

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