Mud, Straw, Sun

Adult friendships are built. Adobe houses.  

Brick by brick, Organic, imperfect. We are servants of each brick. Scatter the seed and cut the straw. Wait for rain to collect the clay at the outside bend of the creek

Form new bricks to repair the eroded corner… a neglected spot beneath a window.

What do I do now? 

When disease washes a life away like an out of season storm, I can’t even find the foundation, not even a mess of mud and straw.

My brain is silent. 


The thought of it brings the smell.

My lover is downstairs. I wonder if he’s looking for a sign. A trail of code that might comfort.

I hear beans tumbling into the grinder. The kettle whistle and coffee grinder signal the four minute mark

I wonder at the time.

December, just north of the snow line. My shoulder is tense from the cold and damp of this day.

My Lover brings up coffee.


He looks at the painting over the drafting table

“Don’t Ask Me Stupid F@#&ing Questions” speaks from the wall.


He drifts away down the hall.

Biding time, both of us. 

Outside the window it is snowing.

Moving slower than usual, I hear our Border Collie on the stairs. A syncopated, determined gate. I turn to see her navigate the doorway.

My slippers are saddled over her shoulders. Brimming with herd dog pride.

I realize my feet are still bare from my shower. The lining is warm. 

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