Ten.Eighty-Four

1.  He's up before me to catch a flight. The baby is beside me. I notice the lengthening of his limbs and how much more surface area his body now requires. 

2. I see her bedroom light on at 4:45 AM. No.  

3. I start making the blueberry muffins in the dark, grabbing eggs and milk and flour and sugar and butter and blueberries.  

4. The big one eats 4 muffins.  

5. The radio in my car has been out for months now but I've come to like the silence. 

6. I haven't gotten to my writing yet but I also feel the cold coming on. Even though what I want to do is write and make and check things off, I know that all I'll manage is the groceries, making the enchiladas for dinner, and laying down to read. 

7. I remember how I said to her last night that every time I set my mind to step into new territories my body revolts. That I always worry that it's a sign that I am headed in the wrong direction. She says, "Or maybe you just need to know that this path you're on is not going to be easy."

8. The arms of the old oaks stretch across overhead like a canopy and as we drive, I watch the leaves float down, down, down. This is my favorite season. 

9. It's hot. 

10. I am going to the desert after all.