Said to Mr. Greye Feline, who’s sleeping on the hardwood floor in the far living room as I leave the “office-blue room” to get more weak but tasty coffee, “Isn’t it wonderful to live in a place where we can do what we want to do when we want to do it?”
And then it hit me: Outside this old house, this historic community that’s rapidly becoming citified—except for the sewer system—with subdivisions next door in our family’s original hayfield, can apparently come and go as it wishes and does: the diesel pickups and roaring motorcycles.
Dan K. of Berryville, a friend, said on a Facebook post, (and gave me permission to use)“Iguess I could catch up on the news of the day...or listen to Alice's Restaurant Decisions...decisions...”
Then I read the blog post of another friend, Pat D. of Norfork. Here is my reaction in a cinquain poem: “A crow/ merely sitting/ on the sycamore stump/ reminds me that today, I’m just/ being.” She also gave me leave to use her blog image-as-muse.
Still no Christmas decorations out: Pat Laster-cum-Scrooge waits till December 1 and promptly goes holiday-wild. Until then, gourds, pumpkins, harvest wreaths, leaf-covered coffee mugs. . .
Three more days.
1 comment:
Your Scrooge is a LOT faster than mine. Christmas decorations won't go up here until the second (or perhaps the third) week of December.
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