Okay, I’m in Maine. I’m on my friend, Kathryn’s house-long front porch. I’m not in the porch swing because putting that up would require drilling and stuff. It doesn’t really matter because I have an old-timey rocking chair to sit in.
I’m across from the town common and a somewhat major road runs between us. Cars are zipping by on their way to workplaces and schools and other places that people go in the morning. Maybe some of them are heading home.
I’ll be joining them in a bit. I’m taking care of stuff back in the big old city of Cambridge. Shuffling more stuff. I need more things to put my clothes away. Hooks, boxes, that sort of thing. I’ll drive back tomorrow.
One of my bedroom windows here looks right out onto the road. There are two twin beds and I sleep in the one pressed up against the window so I can watch the cars and hear them whooshing by. There’s no honking. There are occasionally loud motorcycles, sometimes in packs. Last night there was a pack heading south, I assume to New Hampshire. All motorcycles end up in New Hampshire eventually.
I’ve been napping in the afternoons, when I can really see the cars. Plus the trees overhead, and the sky.
I forget that I’m still getting over COVID, then I go up and down the stairs a few times getting the stuff out of my car and into the house. A few rounds of that and I need to nap.
I’m here to work, and I trying to remember that. I brought the Mary Tyler Moore mug that my friend, Tess Rafferty bought me. It’s my favorite mug, but it also makes me think of her and how much she wants me to be writing. I poured my coffee into it and started writing this. It worked.
The last few days, I’ve been panicking slightly about being up here. It’s so far away from most of what my life has been. My bedroom window faces south, where the kid is, and I think of her as I drift off to sleep. I imagine her forehead pressed against mine.
The cars have picked up in frequency. The day is fully begun. Time to get on the road.
I love the homey way you write. Very visual.