July 23, 2026 – 6:46 am
It’s different out here. Feels like I control the light. That the cold, wet grass is meant to be.
Barefoot, walking Astro. He writes messages to himself, mostly. On the girthy cedar, boat trailer, and propane tank.
I sip coffee. Watch our grand lake shine below a rising red-orange fireball.
My mind unfurls.
∞
Last night I was an actor in a play. In someone else’s shoes—a different body—hating it. A poor production, phony people. Dissatisfied with a scripted part played and played again by anybody who could memorize lines and follow directions. I faked a broken ankle. I should have just told them I was unhappy.
They put me in a rigid theater seat. Made me watch. There was only a Woody Allen wannabe on stage, walking around, admiring his notes. Two women tried sitting on my lap. I shooed them away. Showed them my wedding ring. Then, a call—my daughter. I forgot to pick up her Scuba drink, my wife’s tea, and my son’s smoothie. They were waiting. Before I could respond, the phone slipped and fell into four inches of water. The place was flooding, thank God. I grabbed for my phone. It kept slipping away like a bar of soap in the tub.
∞
Astro tugs me to the cottage. He’s had enough.
It’s a fifty-degree morning in late July. Normal for our place in this time, but it carries what’s to come.
Colder ground. Slower sun.
And it makes me think of all the work that needs to get done.
Scraping and painting. Brushing and burning. Filling cracks, digging holes.
Doing whatever is required of the role.
But before I get too far and change seasons, I think I’ll open the curtains that overlook the water, finish my coffee, and let a little light in.
~ KJ
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