Saturday, April 26, 2025, 40* Grey
Rain streaks windowpanes blurring my view of a quiet dark morning. One Phoebe pays a quick visit to the fence looking to see if I’m at my desk. Tomorrow: “Very windy; rain and drizzle; winds will be locally damaging.” Last night I folded the light-enough-to-take-flight picnic table just a few days ago introduced to the deck. When it returns, it will be secured with zip ties; I can’t keep bringing the outside inside. The rocking chair never left the house. Secured to the balusters, the make-believe tree that lost one leaf through the winter must continue to fend for itself.
I can imagine the metal handle of the Gorilla Cart pushed through the sliding glass seeking shelter from a 50-mph blast. If it wasn’t raining, if I wasn’t already cold, I’d go through the gate past the car and turn the cart upside down. It didn’t move from that location in the last high winds that flung the snow shovel making the three think someone was trying to get in.
When the picnic table was introduced, Starlink was separated from the totes, moved to a corner by the railing with no protection from the three who want to see her. In the winter it did not matter that their union took up so much space. Starlink wants to be lifted higher and lets me know immediately when she loses her connection with the heavens.
“Therefore keep watch, because
you do not know the day or the hour.”
Matthew 25:13 NIV
Photo: LJ Austin
