I’m up too early, awakened by what sounded like a squirrel moving furniture on the roof and me fretting about a non-refundable plane ticket I booked late last night for a November wedding in Massachusetts.
Still groggy, rocking in the kitchen rocking chair in my bathrobe, I remember a dream and tell it to Joe. He had purchased a machine that translated his speech into Aramaic and was proudly showing it off to everyone.
Sipping breakfast tea on the porch, Joe is clipping the forsythia bush back and I’m thinking that maybe I put too much butter on my bagel, considering that I gained an extra pound overnight after attending a Vietnamese soup birthday party at Zephyr Farm with poppyseed cake and ice cream for dessert.
Joe steps in front of the lounge table where I’m sitting and complains about a rotting board beneath his feet. I decide not to worry about it because I think he’s exaggerating. I tell him that I have more confidence in the world than he does, but he has more confidence in his own abilities than I have in mine.
Yesterday he finally took down the big old pine that was blocking the morning sun on our south-facing porch. Already more light is streaming in. I notice the leaves on the dogwood have turned orange and red. Crows call in the distance and chickens squawk nearby. Joe is still clipping. I’m thinking about how the seasons change whether we’re ready or not. I’m looking forward to the opened-up view.