Monday. 7:40 a.m. 51 degrees. Sun up just high enough to turn the sky blue to the horizon but the light is still soft and shadows long. Light wind from the north. 5 mph. Can see it in the tops of the neighbor’s maples. Out on the porch, of course, called out here by my friends the blue jays. Mrs M, bundled up in my barn coat, has joined me for coffee and coffee cake. I told her about how I think of the blue jays as my friends. That’s them whistling, I pointed out. Blue jays don’t just cluck and cackle and scream. They’re truly sociable birds. They’re talking to each other. Not flirting. Not marking territory. Just saying hello and exchanging news. I know Ms M loves me because she puts up so patiently with my bird lore lectures.
When she woke up I suggested we run away. I was already feeling oppressed by the length of my to-do list.
“Where to?” she asked.
“No place special,” I said. “Someplace safe and comforting.”
“Ok,” she said agreeably.
So here we are.