Surrender

Leaving the house in this autumn drench, I slip on a slick of wet leaves and do a gasping half-split in the driveway; a tiny windblown safety-drill for some future January outing. Meanwhile Gilligan looks at the sky in flat-eared submission and rushes back to the door, thoughts of squirrel domination secondary.

The day begs us to hunker down, hole up, hide. Eat a second breakfast, maybe. I light candles and lamps and brew coffee. But darkness still gets in, making old wounds tender; Voldemort is on the move. My inner critic swoops down with terrifying maw and death-eats all creativity. I examine my options: I could pump up the volume on spotify and confound the dog with my whip and my nae nae, I could eat a dozen cinnamon donuts and binge watch Netflix, I could find out which Disney Character I am, or Peanutize myself. I decide to sit silently and let the shadows fall with the rain. After all, light gets in at the broken places. This imperfect day; this imperfect me. A pretty perfect pair.