October 3, 2015. Diary entry.

​The wind still rattles down the street in long unpredictable gusts, knocking against the house, the trash cans, the creaking limbs that want to fall but have not (yet).

It is, by all accounts, a near-perfect moment:
(and I am easily pleased by odd elements)

– dog has her bone and wanders room to room for a hiding spot, a place to guard her treasure.

– DD, brainpower restored after the morning college board, and I, spent the afternoon talking and driving, fetching band uniform pieces a “helpful” soul moved last weekend. She, my daughter, now peacefully intact and ready for tomorrow’s competition, is asleep.

– as many “lasts” as this year is hinting, there are “firsts”, and being thoughtfully engaged reminds me activity is healing balm for an overthinking brain. It wanders less into the abyss as long as it is preoccupied with immediate and interesting fodder.

– only two color guard flags are showing signs of stress; I will mend them by hand before dawn and pray Sunday’s peripheral storm winds are less assertive with our handiwork.

Blankets and comforters on the beds, warm as we need be; the hot water heater has decided to have a snit fit.  Or, we are out of oil (which arrives Monday, of course: Murphy’s Law).  This makes the morning rush less so, which is good (for a day).
And, lastly, somewhere out there, an owl calls for company…for a night?  For a life-bond?  Or maybe just to sing notes onto the night wind and hear how far the song lasts as it rifles and ricochets through our dark slumbering neighborhood.
Good-night, good day, good graces to you and yours.

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