A Change of Plans

The wall above my writing desk.

We slip away from the busier world and ease into simplicity when we return from our morning walks in the forest. I put the tea kettle on (decaf green tea), stream WCRB out of Boston (Mozart’s Wind Divertimento No. 14 in B-flat is currently playing), and settle in at my writing desk. Samwise and Emily cozy into their beds just to my left. Above the desk hang two Will Moses prints, a photo of Will and Ann taken by Ken Stampfer, and a magical little red coat.

It was overcast when we moved through the woods just after sunrise but the mid-morning glow of the sun warms the room and casts her rays about. In the lull between musical notes, I can hear Samwise’s rising snores. They are heavy and earthy and come from the depths of a grounded soul. Emily, tired from six miles, is curled tight, eyes closed—except when I move. She is forever watchful of me, even when she’s asleep.