I have been keeping myself low and quiet here, wondering what the world will look like next week, tomorrow, this afternoon. When January came and left I found myself very aware of time, and very aware of her hands on everything. How did she ever steal that role when it so rightly belongs to someone else? The sun maybe or the moon. Either of them would do a better job I think, but instead I rely on her.

I live in anticipation of the next thing and how many minutes or miles I have to get there. My job that starts in a few hours, my run that will keep me from lingering in the hot shower, my toaster pancakes that require “setting number six” (which is absurd). The one that gets me the most is the odometer in my truck. Constantly staring at me. Reminding me that once it sat at one hundred and eighteen thousand, but now it’s more like one hundred and twenty-four and I swear I don’t drive that much. But I think I have a few more minutes of driving before I need an oil change. I hope time will let me know before it’s too late.

But she never reminds me of anything until it’s too late. Maybe that is my own doing. It never surprises me that I can’t keep up with her.

The only thing that surprises me anymore are the birds. Or the weather. Today we are expected to get a good amount of snowfall but I looked out the window this morning and saw a hummingbird collecting food from a camellia tree. It stopped me mid-sentence. Why is that stupid tree always in bloom? And, don’t they know about the snow?? They must know something I do not, the birds and the trees. We have talked about cutting that tree down for a while.

The other morning I witnessed three mourning doves sitting on an overpass as I drove to work. This curve in particular , the cause of many fender benders. If you ever commute from Norfolk to Virginia Beach you know the spot. I wonder if anyone else noticed. I laughed out loud at their meeting place. But as I write this, maybe it’s not the bend of the overpass that prompts cars to slow and brake abruptly, maybe it’s their doing! How brilliant.

It’s the Damn. Bald. Eagle. The one that perches on the church spire near our house. The American symbol of freedom, so huge and menacing, but yet just sitting up there, graceful as fuck! I’ll drop the “f-bomb” here to see if a certain someone is reading. But truly, why must she just sit up there, so tall and ominous like, on the skinniest of perches? Just find an appropriate perch already!

She is either a damn fool, a cunning hunter, or a big fat bully. And I like that I don’t know the difference for her. She can be whatever she wants. She reports to the sun and the moon after all. And she’s never late for a thing.

It has taken me long enough to write this that by now we have received what I guess to be about eight inches of snow. I woke up early because my stomach hurt and Lefty wanted to eat promptly at five am. He too must prove his intelligence over me by waking before the alarm clock. He ran around hesitantly in the yard long enough to collect little balls of snow on his ankles and butt, but now he is passed out next to me on the yellow sofa. Annoying how quickly he can fall back to sleep. As if he has no where to be later.

It’s a Thursday and it is unusually quiet outside. Normally by now (quarter to six) the traffic outside would be the white noise to my routine, but I guess you all have the day off today. Maybe I will too.