Begin again.

Had turkey last night, and I'm in that.. you know, that.. like, hangover-kind of contented depression.  Coffee will help.  Maybe I will get myself an espresso maker.

I have been thinking about it for years--the espresso maker.  I get so many catalogs from Macy*s, Filene's, Fingerhut, and others that you'd think all they do is print stuff.  I get probably two or three or four things from each of them, every week.  I finger through them, check out the guys and look at the gadgets.  Briefly I consider a romantic fantasy or espresso maker.  Then I throw them away. 

The air is cool and wet, the clouds are low and gray, it's a rainey day without rain yet.  It's a Saint Francis kinda day.  (You know Francis, the naked monk, who gave his clothes to the bishop and lived in caves with other men around Assisi.)  It's a contemplative day, it's the kind of day your soul comes home because the distractions have moved away; clear sunny wind, lively light, crisp shining air--that's not here today, that's somewhere else.  Today we see the light inside--if anybody's home--warm yellow light standing out amid the muted grays, a glow amidst a poverty of light.

And we begin again.

Why am I here?  What was the task I set when I was away from here, when I was on shore?  It did involve my parents, and my siblings.  And it did include everything that has brought me here to this place and moment, typing beneath the elegant desk lamp I bought on one of the days with Daniel, in Boston.  Typing, and sipping coffee.  With a headache.

Is that all there is?

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