22 January 2013


Our tree house is surrounded by fog. I haven't been able to see into the valley for days now. 

The trees are frosted with ice that doesn't melt during the day, so the world up here in the hills is all grey and misty and strange.

I hibernated this long weekend, barely leaving the house but for warm drinks and snacks. I needed to be quiet. I needed to think. 

I had coffee on Saturday with one of my favorite people in this town. (I feel like I have a lot of favorite people in this town; this town is full of great people.) We talked about some hard things, but good, in the way of people who care enough to be honest about their own faults and gentle with the other person's. I left happy and thoughtful.

And the fog swirled around, and the days were grey, and I rested.

I woke up this morning with a raw feeling in the top of my lungs like the beginning of getting sick, again, two weeks after I got antibiotics for my sinus infection, and when I laughed I could hear a scraping in my windpipe.

I came straight home from work to lounge on the couch and drink tea with honey and watch Fringe and go to bed early: my cure-all.

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