Sunday, March 9, 2025, 20.3* Windy
A procession of melon leads through the trees growing wider on the eastern horizon. It is an hour later. As I took my cup from the microwave, I remembered Bruce put his cup in so that the handle would be in front of him when the turntable stopped. I am not so precise.
Zsolt sleeps under my desk, decides a bed would be warmer, softer, better for sleep—leaves. Now I can move my feet from the rungs of my chair, stretch my legs. Ruger lays beside me, washes his feet gets up, follows me: to get a pill, to open blinds, to heat coffee. Great Danes are known to be Velcro dogs; they sleep, after months, finally secure in a different morning regime. The Shepherd knows every move we all make.
The day moves on oblivious to our clocks, the winding of man.
“But concerning that day and hour no one knows,
not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but
the Father only.”
Matthew 24:36 ESV
Photo: LJ Austin
