I’m inside that tiny, peaceful moment of just-before-a-journey.
I have printed three copies of my itinerary–there’s nothing now I want to re-plan or re-do. The stuff I’ll be packing tomorrow is lying piled up on my suitcase, trying to stay unwrinkled.
The kitchen clock ticks, and the fridge softly hums. I will miss this kitchen, my dear old kitchen computer, my pots of grape hyacinth next to the sink.
Last night, I saw my little winter mouse run across the floor when the kitchen was quiet like this. He is my winter mouse because I have shared the house with him for the cold weather. Now that spring is arriving, his days of eating my ramen and tacos are numbered.
Some lovely spring day, soon, I will lure him with peanut butter into my little havaheart trap, and drive him two miles to some trees near a BurgerKing dumpster.
But that won’t happen tonight, or even tomorrow. My sense of responsibility is already riding a plane headed south to Austin.
Bzzzt–oh, there goes the dryer. Time to fold clothes. So much for my moment to stop and smell the grape hyacinth!
1 response so far ↓
1 Brother K // Mar 13, 2004 at 10:17 pm
Winter mice that are allowed to share the homespace are quite lucky, and (I’ve always believed)knowingly so. As I recall, even squirrels rememember to thank those that keep them warm by replanting tupip bulbs from neighboring yards into the yard of the benefactor.