At the moment it’s 5º
and the wind chill is -9º. The January freeze has arrived. The killing season. Insects and viruses face certain death,
along with more than we know. It’s been
a while since it’s been this cold. Yesterday,
just as the temperature was starting to dive, a small flock of bluebirds
descended on the red chokeberry bush in the back yard.
Not long after, a Cooper’s hawk scouted the tree line. And Brodi lay in his place, dreaming of
Africa, of warm savannahs, a burning red sun, and silent adventures in the land
of lions. I’m certain he dreamed me with
him.
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