It's Still Life

24 November: 6ºC, feels like it should be frosty, but it’s not.

First coffee of the day, and I’m looking out the kitchen window at a woman in a blue plaid lumberjack shirt. Her white dog is wearing a matching gilet. I never clothed my dog. My dog was a dog. A neighbour dresses her dog up for Halloween. A witch’s hat, and a black dress. The idiocy of the human species to think a dog desires to go incognito on the last day of October, when in fact it’s on pinprick nerves from children encroaching on its space, and the doorbell ringing.

When I woke, the sky was clear and cold. Now there are a two clouds from the west encroaching on blue.

I tell him I want to hear my car growl like my wolf. He says he doesn’t understand me sometimes. I refrain from suggesting that it’s the Viking in him that clouds life’s subtleties. The subtleties of texture across the water and knowing when and where to turn ones boat. He is a good man. We have been together for a very long time. We understand each other without words, and misunderstand each other with them.

Damned clouds keep coming in. There’s no stopping darkness when it sweeps overhead.

For Irene’s Red Wolf prompts. Irene has returned after a long absence. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023.