Day 613, March 7, 2022

The Gale

The rain is blowing sideways against the house, 

rising up the windows like a gale hitting a schooner. 

It is enough to be thankful the house is not at sea. 

I shut the chickens in, 

and dragged the recycling to the curb. 

I can only hope nobody has blown away. 

I spoke with a colleague today 

who said all she does is drive and then work, 

drive and then sleep. 

It is getting monotonous. 

I’ve been wondering what else there is to life. 

A character in a move I watched said 

that we work to avoid dwelling on the tragedies of our lives. 

Which means, 

without which, 

there would be even less 

and that is a frightening thought. 

Sometimes, I have a tender gut, 

an unruly colon, 

and it makes me tired. 

Everything is a little bit harder. 

Everything feels waterlogged, 

like you’ve been walking around in wet shoes all day. 

Everything feels on the verge of panic. 

Perhaps I could take up meditation, 

counting sheep, 

knitting shawls. 

I used to build guitars, 

and I always imagined I might return to building, 

but as I’ve gotten older, 

my hands resist overuse and repetition. 

I wonder if there is a gentle way to work wood, 

I do miss the sensual sharp blade slicing across fibers, 

peeling away layers of a lover’s clothes. 

The smooth skin exposed underneath, 

so pleasing to the touch. 

On bad days, 

it is like that time we went whale watching 

and the seas were rough, 

and there was nothing anyone could do. 

The sea sickness came like a sudden fever 

and there was no escape, 

no turning around, 

no respite.

The rain has stopped. 

There was a sound, 

like a trash can blown over 

and dragged across the asphalt. 

So thankful to have made it to shore.