May 23

It is morning. I have stayed in bed. My clock went off at 5:30 and then 5:40 the way I set it. I did not get up. Instead, I rolled over, nestled deep into the duvet and thought about writing. Soon, the family of Martins that live near my bedroom window will be up chirping, whistling and swooping, casting shadows against the frosted glass.

By 7:15 I am out back pouring water into waiting potted plants and potted trees though this time I am not sure they are waiting. At the café, the water bowl is empty. The food bowl is gone. At least for a minute or two. While I search, I picture little paws dragging it across the yard, then into and across the nearby field and into the woods. It could be a table by now. But no, covered by tall stalks of what I hope are sunflowers, beneath a leafy canopy, the food bowl sits nearly empty. It’s the perfect spot for a late-night date. I am thinking about that while birds sing and a stillness fills the air. I fill the food bowl and food tray with seeds and seeds and nuts and nuts and nuts. Today is a day for plenty. A fluttering of wings fills nearby trees and Pheasant is closer now than the last time I heard the sweet honk. The café is open. I go into the house thinking of stories.