Monday, June 23, 2025, 61.3*, 0626
What happened here? I remember waking twice feeling like I was lying on cement. Did I fight with the night? I fought with something, or someone did. Pillows gone. Quilt missing. Something pulling at or holding onto the remaining cotton blanket as if to climb onto the bed or cocoon themselves in it. In darkness, I remember waking twice. The story, all the characters vanished when I opened my eyes. Only the pain in my right hand remembers the night. More likely the unhealed injury of falling face down weeks ago with the screen door aggravated by the story that took place last night.
Making sure I didn’t lean into a spider web I began taking morning photos. As always, I looked at the pond from a different position since green leaves, fanned-out ferns, wild grasses now obscure the winter view. Slighted, because I didn’t look towards the clearing or perhaps annoyed that I disturbed her dream, a deer began snorting. I saw the white tail vanish just like my story and all the characters of my night.
I had stopped seeking, stopped looking at the clearing where deer slept last fall, where a long-legged deer brought her fawn not so many days ago.
I must remember to keep looking for the blessings of old familiar places.
ICM Photo: LJ Austin
