Sunday, March 15, 2026, 16* F, 75% RH
I woke thinking it’s Monday. I typed Monday. I checked. It’s not Monday. The three know it is morning, it is time to go outside. I hear Ruger’s nails click clack on vinyl, if I don’t turn on a light I may trip over his sprawled black body just outside my door. Zayne begins talking, bouncing off the floor. Zsolt, sits on his bed watching always the first into the hall, onto the deck this morning textured with crunchy frost random snow.
Sky reflects in open water.
Rooster crows.
Sun, orange shines my window.
Photo: LJ Austin
