Stirring

Orphan puppy is restless as she watches me put my boots on, my jacket. I gather the bags of trash, find my keys, and she looks at me with those giant, sad eyes, until she realizes that she's going with me, and she begins to tremble that excited shake of hers.

We step out onto Morton Street. Christmas Day, and all the world is quiet. I have never seen the street so still; it's an eerie silence. Orphan puppy is delighted with the fresh air and trots down the sidewalk unnaffected. Later, she lies alongside my leg, all sugarplum visions and deep breaths, while my mind tries to remember a story worth telling.

December has been one long dry spell, without words, without a single spark. Christmas rolls around, social tinsel and work line my every day with soft cotton that numbs my senses, and nothing is contorted enough to write about. Everything just is. Perhaps it's a welcome break. Perhaps I should be alarmed.

The bigger questions will not be away for long. Some nights I enjoy the stillness of their absence, but mostly I itch for their return.

I am not me, without them.