Thursday, November 20, 2008

A Season of Falls

I have taken tremendous pleasure in our unseasonably warm temperatures over the past several days. My friend David is the recipient of much of my gloating and to his credit, handles it pretty well with only minimal name-calling. This morning, though, I couldn't help but think that perhaps he got a bit of revenge for all my talk of sunshine and temperatures which came awfully close to 80 this week.

I fell asleep on the couch again last night, a bad habit I really need to get a handle on. I had a short but vivid dream of talking on the telephone with David and boasting once again about the perfection of Denver's weather. I could hear him scowl all the way from Illinois and rather than call me a "dirty rat," as he usually does, he said, "You just watch yourself, mister. You'll get yours."

I finally woke up a little after 2 and took Duncan out for one last bathroom break. Our nearly balmy night had been replaced by frigid air and a thick, heavy mist which cast orange rings around the lamps in the park and made the street on the other side of gate shine like a black snake's back. It was a wet mist, and because it was cold it was already freezing. The grass was stiff and slippery and crunched with each tentative and sleepy step Duncan took. I did not envy him having to lean into it to pee.

After he finished we walked around the side of the building just to stretch our legs a bit before heading back inside to the warmth of the two comforters Ken had pulled over the bed. As we came up the slight incline of the front walk in front of our apartment, I felt my feet slip on the fine layer of ice which had formed and before I knew it I was at that place I came to know so well last Winter, the place between the sky and the ground where I hover--arms and legs akimbo--only long enough to anticipate how hard and cold the ground will be when I return to it once again.

Duncan stopped dead and turned just in time to see me come back down, first on all fours, and then when the ice did not approve, flat on my belly, a hhwump sound echoing off the buildings all around. He seemed to shake his head and glance around to make sure Kona or Toby or even the Wretched Hyenas who froth and growl and threaten us from their window next door did not witness my grace. I picked myself up, wiping crystals from my pajamas, some of which slipped down my naked ankle and into my slippers where they stung the soft warm part of my heel.

It is the season I dread most, my season of falls. Let's hope both Duncan's pride and my head survive.

Somewhere I know David is smiling. I got mine.

5 comments:

caboval said...

Curt! Be careful! You need houseslippers with traction!

Lori said...

Oh, sweetie, you'll NEVER fall down more than I do! But since I'm a hermit, nobody usually sees me. If I weren't compelled to blog about it, nobody would even know. ;-)

Curt Rogers said...

Why, if we're such intelligent people, do we keep blogging about it??? Perhaps I do it in the hopes that if I don't come home some time this winter and the blog doesn't get written, someone will notice and send a search party out to the park where I will, no doubt, be discovered laying in a heap, Duncan, hiding in shame and disgust nearby.

Cheryl said...

You need shoe chains.

David said...

I have no recollection of ever referring to you as a "dirty rat". I HAVE called you a "meteorological smug-gut". And a "weather wussy". Both true, sadly.