Birds + Blankets

Trust the love of it all

I’m tired in a way that I can feel in my hands, in the corners of my eyes, a soreness in the backs of my knees and up my legs. What’s reassuring is I feel balanced. Everything is exhausted, my mental state is spent. I work I write I work out I game. I’m not sure what is left of me to give to my life and that is a great state of being. Rhythm finally.

□ □ □ □ □

Soft click of dog nails goes deeper from the kitchen to the composite deck boards. Beneath the drizzled clouds the sun hasn’t risen yet. From the tree someone new speaks to me, an unfamiliar voice in an unfamiliar language. Scanning the branches for an Autumn body full of plumage, ruffling with the muffled caw. The dog nails return, a click cadence so rhythmic the click leads us back to the warmth of our dry bed. Burrowing into the heavy blankets the sun cracks the gray cloudline, onto the branches, zigzagged in dew dropped shadows. We rest again, until our alarm.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

When the rain comes so does the piles. Piles of blankets and more blankets. Everywhere is chilly. Socks are of sudden priority. In every room in every corner blankets are accumulating.

-When Fall Hits-

In every room in every corner
blankets begin to accumulate
piles on piles unrecognizable
stitch patterns I’ve never seen
a welcome problem in the fall air
but from where do these blankets appear
As if every room left unattended
upon returning has a new blanket waiting
While only October third this problem
seems to be never ending
Soon the walls will have gone soft
quilted hills climbing past the window sills
The sectional already simply a pit
wool woven fabric to sleep in
The lines of what defines the rooms
the kitchen nook all blurred by lumps
the down padding borders unfollowable
I can only throw myself in
burrowed blanket sanctuary a mystery
fold over me quiet unquestioned hibernation