21-01-19
Everyone is quiet.
No mice to chase.
Darkness has fallen.
I might be thirsty.
The thirst despite.
Got nothing done
It seems.
Though that’s a distortion.
Rest couldn’t be sweeter.
Though the day is not done.
Such delicate anticipation
Of an evening.
Seemingly nothing disturbs the unfolding.
The dog has nuzzled to the hearth.
The fire reflecting on his supine snout.
The cat, one of them—the girl sibling—is curled on a blanket on the bed.
Naturally, the blanket isn’t folded quite right,
So stealing a swatch of blanket to recline propped requires delicate origami, so as not to disturb
her and prompt an exit.
The fairy princess is consumed by the couch. Under a blanket so thick a Buffalo would be
jealous. The black cat is completely obscured within the darkness of the non-incandescent living
room.
Just the glow of the fire and similar ambient lighting from the beams above my head punctuate
the field of vision.
The quiet and the dark fuse into an indistinguishable form of sense that is both together. As if
sense itself were dimmed.