While dad’s off talking about bubbles and end-of-the-world holiday fare, I’m here working and thinking on other things. Up in the loft today, overseeing my “domain,” the 3 pm nap-sprites showed up and drug me down to the floor. My body almost always wants to sleep right around 3, and if I am in the comfort of my own home, who am I to resist their somnolent ways?
I awoke hours later, dreamless except for one conversation with a new friend that has not yet happened but should, and now I am isolated. The mist from earlier has turned into a fog covering the forest. One small lamp on my writing desk sets itself as a beacon in the darkness inside the cabin. Insulated in a patch of light, the shadows run deeper, dark lines furrowing in the ridges between the logs, the lamp unable to penetrate the gray wall at the windows.
Coming down from the loft, it felt like time to drive out to the mailbox. Apparently this truly is a holiday time, there were no lights on in any of my neighbors’ cabins along the dirt road out to the highway. Deer appeared in the mist, their timid, spectral heads poking through then darting away from the headlights. On the ride back I eventually saw the glow from the loft shining high up the hill, my island of existence in a world gone away. Off in the distance I can actually hear thunder. It’s times like this I get to feel so completely alone but not lonely. So much better than being lonely but not alone which has happened too much lately.
Nice imagery.
Intrigued by your new friend, and the conversation that has not happened but should. Hmmmm. Might we hear more in due time?
You have to drive to your mailbox? Good God, Man. I think I’d never get my mail…
i’m with christina on this one.
Sometimes being alone is the greatest gift in the world that we could ever give ourselves.
You *do* have a way with words.
.. it is difficult to get the right mix of poetry and realism when looking at your life.. very difficult.. but you did it wonderfully with this post…