wind swims out of the west and knocks my bike down, where it was leaning against the fence; it flutters the pages of my book and turns the day from hot to warm, eventually blowing it all the way down to cool. i am immersed in myself today, with no phone or threat of phone to interrupt me. i realize how much of my time and energy is habitually focused on that little device: on the supposition that at any moment, something better might come along. yes, i am on my porch, in the sun, with a book and a pint of haagen-daz, but someone could call me any time, with gossip or an invitation or bad news. somehow, being without is like being in the backcountry. there is a sense that, of course, the world is going on without me, but i may as well not worry myself about it now. so instead i enjoy the book and the sun on my toes, ride my bike to paint some butterfly wings for the earth day parade, make a sandwich with rye bread and savor the glory of living alone. i would like to spend a few days more in this haze of semi-isolation, while the last edges of winter slip away and the wind throws around the newly budded branches like rice at a wedding.


last night i felt sick and part of me hoped it would last through to monday, give me some excuse to be alone a while longer. perhaps it is a phase, or a side effect of some other change, but i find myself needing quiet, and space, and solitude much more than i had previously suspected i might.