Saturday, October 11, 20205, 32.7*, 88% RH, 0702
Moon becomes the eye of a cloud. Latch unsecured, my boot brushes a stack of boxes, as I try to get to the window, open the blinds, dislodges the top, spills tape acquired for specific uses, like balls, before I can catch them, they roll into hidden places. From a distance, not as much as yesterday, not so many crystals on the railing, on the car frost is easy to see. The three sleep on their portion of sofa not willing to walk the narrow path through the hall of unlatched boxes or risk the noise of the metal barricade to their room falling. It happened twice yesterday unnerving everyone.
Two cabinets wait in the hall of stacked unlatched boxes: wait for shelves, wait to be filled with sheets, towels, one half-full bottle of Eternity perfume, soap, light bulbs, hair curlers, music, yarn, knitting needles, bells, decorations, velum, high gloss, low gloss, matte, lustre, archival paper for printing art I haven’t been creating. When the disheveled is once again settled, when on the sofa boxes don’t lounge, perhaps we shall find peace again.
Life is years of mazes we navigate until we change them.
Photo: LJ Austin
