Written Yesterday, for Today.

We are passengers in the middle of this bus, headed back east through snow dusted rock cuts in a long line of cars that grows in number as we pass each exit. We are returning from a long holiday hiatus from the city we both love and loathe and now, at sunset, we are readying ourselves to greet it again. Other places the people we have been with are preparing for another Sunday evening in late December: wood fires stoked, dinner considered, glasses of wine, a last walk outside, your breath visible, the water, the trees. I have written before about feeling so mindful of the simultaneous actions of my loved ones, I see them standing at windows and wonder if they are thinking of me too. I send out good luck, big love to all of them. We are strung across these regions and countries and we grow in number each year, all the time. In how many homes have I been a welcome guest? How many guests will I welcome before I stop? My heart and mind and arms are largely open.

Happy last day of 2012.

(Written today:) There will be a Christmas wrap-up, but for now we will revel in the current scene: Ken, and cats. It’s how I’m spending 2012’s last breaths.

"She loves my feeties."

“She loves my feeties.”

Courtesy of Dan Blum, more proof that Ken loves cats.



About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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One Response to Written Yesterday, for Today.

  1. declansynott says:

    Nicely stated, Erica. Love your love for landscapes and the influence of place. Happy New Year!

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