We have somehow managed to limp through the past two days. My ankle has been bothering me again and last night was the worst it's been, keeping me up long after Duncan and I should have met for our dream walk. I climbed out of bed, scattering the cats who'd nestled around me and downed four ibuprofen in the darkness of the bathroom. Once I finally managed to doze off, tossing and turning long hard hours, Duncan woke me up gagging and sputtering. I got dressed, staggered down three flights of stairs and sat in the cool grass with him stroking his back as he ripped and chewed at the grass. I watched the stars turn slowly and closed my eyes in the Russian Olive-scented breeze coming across the golf course. At long last we climbed the stairs and returned home. Duncan scooted under the futon and while he snored and hummed in his sleep, I could only lay awake and listen to him breathe, fearful of letting sleep take me again 'less he needed to hurry back outside for another walk through the damp grass.
The alarm called for me at 5:30 and began what would become an exhausting day. We walked down to the end of the way and stood under the big lightning-struck cottonwood. The ants were busy on the sidewalk, repairing the small mounds they build between the cement slabs. Every night the sprinklers undo their work and every morning they begin anew, tireless and dull in their determination. And that's how I felt, plodding to and from work, up and down the stairs, back and forth across the apartment, singing songs to Duncan or reading aloud to him to forget how lonely and tired this day has left me.
But our walk tonight across the grass and in the silence of the darkness was perfect. There was a strange, unexpected comfort in the sound of a plane breaking over the Rockies and banking for the long turn north toward the airport. The crickets have not yet begun to sing but two robins, startled out of their tree by our passing, called after us, an out-of-place eerie sound in the night, hollow and sudden. Duncan kept time with me, unleashed and free but choosing to stay close, occasionally pressing his nose into the warm spot behind my knee, bending to lick the ankle I'm still limping on.
Tonight, climbing into bed, I feel like the ants, tireless and dull as I await the sprinklers and then the all the work of the coming dawn.
The alarm called for me at 5:30 and began what would become an exhausting day. We walked down to the end of the way and stood under the big lightning-struck cottonwood. The ants were busy on the sidewalk, repairing the small mounds they build between the cement slabs. Every night the sprinklers undo their work and every morning they begin anew, tireless and dull in their determination. And that's how I felt, plodding to and from work, up and down the stairs, back and forth across the apartment, singing songs to Duncan or reading aloud to him to forget how lonely and tired this day has left me.
But our walk tonight across the grass and in the silence of the darkness was perfect. There was a strange, unexpected comfort in the sound of a plane breaking over the Rockies and banking for the long turn north toward the airport. The crickets have not yet begun to sing but two robins, startled out of their tree by our passing, called after us, an out-of-place eerie sound in the night, hollow and sudden. Duncan kept time with me, unleashed and free but choosing to stay close, occasionally pressing his nose into the warm spot behind my knee, bending to lick the ankle I'm still limping on.
Tonight, climbing into bed, I feel like the ants, tireless and dull as I await the sprinklers and then the all the work of the coming dawn.
1 comment:
Drudgery...the (almost) perfect word for "todays". They start early and end late. Tomorrow will be better, wait and see.XO
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