Pensively, he wrote.
The air hangs differently during a vacation; it lay impregnated with possibility. The rooms of the house look different; like warm, gentle friends instead of exigencies for exigencies. The fulsome lyrics of the Irish band “the Fenians” resonate during this stopped-time, this time ambered in a fossil that I can turn over and look at and play with.
The rooms hang in a suspended state; the closet is newly cleaned and has an aura of holiness about it. Organizing the roll-top desk today felt like a coporal work of mercy; the interior was bare enough to leave exposed. How long has that been! The outdoor Christmas lights went up, a bulwark against an ever-shortening day.
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