Today and Still

A squirrel came as near as he could, balancing on a limb, one eye on me, one eye on everything else.

A cardinal skittered skittered along the edge of the roof. I only saw his bright red tail feathers.

Two mockingbirds dueling on the fence, claiming their territory.

Knockknockknockknockknock of a woodpecker on a light pole.

Turn my head, there is a flicker of flame and smoke from the citronella candle.

I watch a mosquito sink its vicious little proboscis into my arm. Anyway.

Cars drive by. Dogs bark. I sink into another book. A woman on the verge of discovery.

I drift to sleep, gently. Awake again. Not much of a barrier between them.

I turn off my thoughts with the help of chemicals. Sleep is easy and deep. Limbs heavy. All of my energy just to push the air out, pull the air in. The wind moving the tiptops of the trees around.

I don't want to move for a bit. Just stay right here. Tell me it's okay. Tell me it's fine. Take this pinchiness out of me for a little while.