I want to write and be writing the last thing today. But, there is some tidying to do first, if that is to be the last. There is never much—tidying—it only takes a few minutes because there is not much un-tidying that happens most days, since I am rarely here anymore because I am there. At night, however, I am everywhere.
I will be write back . . .
Chores are done and there is a general aire of order. I like it.
Don’t get me wrong; I can be quite untidy at night. But for now it is just me and music and things in their places. Proper places I suppose.
That last delivery up there in the photograph was by moonlight and I liked looking back from the dark toward the light in my truck, especially knowing that it was empty of mail and parcels after a fairly tough day of work.
I was thinking of moonlight, but also of dawn and morning music and then a poem began to form:
Only one song for my ears
Single rose, dew drop tears
Well, like I said, I wanted to write and be writing last thing today. Good night.