evening

Work is done. Home now. Groceries put away, books stashed. Outside, the sun is catching the few patches of snow – there, by the porch, just so.





It’s the night of our dinner out. At Sardine – a place just twelve minutes from where we live. We go early, to take advantage of the happy hour specials. A golden drive of winter fields and herds of deer.






And now we’re there, by the lake’s edge and the sun is nearly gone...





...and we order the oysters and the sandwiches and it’s all so not home cooked which, in this case, is perfectly wonderful.

Night. Home now, at the farmhouse. Tired, well fed, anticipating the moment when I can close my eyes and give in to...

...sleep.