The Horizon

Eight thirty five.

In my tizzy this morning I forgot to avoid the rush hour traffic when going to market. The same guys were back, working on the road again, and the cars were backed up in a long line in each direction. I got yelled at by one guy because I would have tried to go around the work area on the right side, but he told me what to do. So I crossed the road twice and made it to the store, where I found Cathy working again. The sun was low in the blue sky, a very fresh and sobering sight in the chill air of winter, like the ritual pot of coffee. I figured it was a two Snapple day. Also I bought a pouch of bacon strips for Aesop. Outdoors, the sky was immense and cold, but it seemed far away from the human workaday world of Caterpillars and asphalt and guys in lime green jackets directing traffic with signs and walkie talkies. The heavens were somehow alien and other from the workweek and human business, something imponderable, removed, and utterly silent. And then I regained my own street and noticed that Lenore’s car was back in her driveway after a few days of absence. Right now the clouds are moving in to block the sun, giving things a lemon pallor while my dog waits for his breakfast. It could be an interesting kind of day. 


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