In the Pines

The sky is grey, the air has that cold look it gets in December and it's clear what's about to come: snowfall. How many hours left, you lift a finger into the air and try to taste it. A day ago the sun shone bright, as you lay writhing in a bed trying to out the demons. They fled on their own, but not without tearing through your flesh first. You cannot eat, cannot think, only sleep and count the money you're losing. Try to imagine there's a lesson in there somewhere. While you sit at the kitchen table, upright at last and staring down a cup of coffee like it's a game of chicken, a mouse scampers across the living room floor to hide in a yoga mat. You throw it out on the fire escape, watch it flail. Namaste.

A social media reminder tells me it's been 6 years since we went to that bar, the unassuming one in a terrible corporate neighborhood but it was perfect and we shared such joy in knowing it. We never went back there. It's just as well. Don't fix what isn't broken. And if it's broken but you don't know what to do about it, sometimes the only thing is let it go.

Namaste.