And yes, I've been quiet lately; contemplative.
Last Wednesday I accompanied R. to his cardiologist
appointment, where he was give the green light
to resume his life. Happiness! Time to let out
a breath, the one I've held in since the break-in
on Memorial Day, and held since. Too much, I say.
And yet. The first day of fall and it's officially 88 degrees
and the sun, the air, is perfect: not humid, not smoggy,
just a clear sail into autumn. Golden days, these.
Scrubbed and scrubbed my fingers at the end
of my workday and still they hold remnants of paint:
irridescent Aztec gold, duochrome bronze,
quinacridone violet. A daily scourge is lamp-black --
no more or less of anything in comparison
to the other colors, but it vexes me,
challenges me, tests any shred of patience
I may hold in reserve. Sullen, intransigent and cocky --
it is the absence of a pearl, a dearth of Champagne,
drugged sleep. Never chocolate wrapped in gold foil.
Never the velvet underside of the cat's paw.