Wendy is at work. But for me, today is a holiday. A paid holiday. Which explains why I am still in bed. I should really say, back in bed.
I’m listening. I hear Cosine click-click-clicking around downstairs. One level down, not two. Soon she’ll find her way back up here to the bedroom. I’ll stop what I am doing and give her a lift up. I’ll scratch her head and rub her hips. She’ll make those endearing groaning noises I already know I’m going to miss one day. For now, I pet her the way I know she loves.
Our neighbor across the street, Mr. Eveningmoon (his name has been changed to protect the innocent), is someone I depend on, despite the fact we have never spoken, merely waved at each other from afar. He always puts his trash can out the night before the trash men cometh, a visual reminder for us. He places a large rock on the lid. When the trash men empty it, they move the rock to the curb. Voila! Sign language answering the question "is it too late for us to wheel our can to the curb?"
Recycling is a different matter. We have to put the recycling out the night before. The recycling truck comes by butt crack early.
I’m still listening. I hear the heat running. It’s quite cold today despite spring supposedly having sprung. I hear rain. It’s supposed to rain all day. Heavily.
(I wish my coffee cup would spontaneously refill itself.)
I don’t hear The Boy. He’s still asleep. His ride back to school will arrive around ten this morning. He’ll walk out the door of our home, not to return until October. Oc-freaking-tober.
It’s silly to be looking forward to Fall when Spring has just begun.