It snowed last night, a thin scraping over windshields and sidewalks, but that will likely vanish under a spatter of drizzle. Still, I'm glad not to be driving. Today is another home day: classwork and workshop prep, then a walk up the street for afternoon coffee with a friend. How strange that still sounds to me: walking out for coffee. What a luxurious thing to be able to do.
I've been working on, of all things, a Harmony poem. You'd think I'd have gotten that place out of my system by now. But no. The poem is about walking down my road, at this time of year. About how the log trucks fly past. About people picking bottles and cans out of the sodden ditch.
Sometimes I think Harmony becomes even clearer to me now that I'm not in it.
Anyway, I have a new poem, with a blunt little ending.