Most of the changes in our lives happen behind our backs.
Like the flickering of lights meaning an end to a night out.
When that bartender yelled, "last call," I had no idea it was my last call.
Decades later I have no regrets.
But I do sometimes wonder when that was.
A glass of wine softens the sting of walking rather than swooshing through white paths carved in the woods on a cold winter day. And the passage of time helps to soothe a fading passion, caused by the passage of time, making old photos begin to look like strangers standing there with eyes that sparkle. Like they know a secret.
It was a gray and cloudy January here in the black hole just outside Harmony Grove.
And then the sun, you know our special yellow dwarf star, the one that had gone missing, showed its face. And when it did, it returned day after day, trying to make up for that lost month.
This sudden surge of brightness about blinded us and caused endorphins to shoot through our midwestern veins, which triggered a weird giddiness, which in turn signaled our brains to.
A person can only snow shoe and vacuum and crank up the music for so many hours in a day.
And at times stories do not come easily.
I was watching birds at the feeder the other morning. They were taking turns in an orderly fashion, waiting for the upside down hanging squirrel to fall, when.
Always look through your windows when admiring the red brilliance of cardinals.
Never look directly at the glass.
Because this returned star studded sun of a gun is now exposing all the spots that have been there since September.
My sweet Sven and I had a living room pandemonium the other night, full of sparks, chaos and smoke. We sprang to our feet to keep the house from burning down after a log jumped out of the wood stove and landed on the area rug.
Finally we had the situation under control, closed the stove door and sat back down.
A hint of a melted carpet filled the air as we enjoyed a moment of silence.
And then my sweet Sven said, "We are still living on the edge, Millie."
"Which is amazing," I said. "Since we don't do anything."
We stared at the burn marks.
"Gonna need a new rug," I said.
"Maybe we can just spin it around."
"Probably should wait until heating season is over," he said.
"Or we could shut the door."
But the crackles and pops have so more meaning with the door ajar and we both knew it would never happen. No more than we will close the new windows, that are supposedly being installed in our loft this spring, just because it rains.
"I am going to need some paint," I said.
Sven just nodded.
It is nice to know that some things stay the same, at least for a little while.
And now I know just what to do with all this pent up vitamin D.