Boxes are burnt and I stay outside sitting by the smolders. I added wood, but it didn’t take.
That’s alright.
I smoke the last of a cigar.
My view is toward the moon. It is nearly full and rising. Mars is above and to its south. Orion is firing his arrow from sky into the earth. Tall shadow of a car shows from behind, creeping to my side.
I cannot see the storage sheds across the street, nor the gas station to my south, though it is its lights that casts the feline’s form.
I hear the highway, but later in night, traffic’s less.
I type as my fingers numb, a little like spirit and mind.
It was a good day, with stressful parts. I cleaned messes: giving order to some, burning others, so not all is a loss in time and achievement.
Tomorrow is a new day, fresh start. I will begin before sun with the frost still full. Still, winter’s getting to me and it’s only just begun.
Tomorrow’s a new day.
After some, that’s all we need.