White as new snow, clinging.

Everything should be white today.

One wakes at times, or simply rises off the floor after nights of not sleeping, and the best she can do is to rinse the dishes, stuff towels into the washing machine.

Outside, "new snow, clinging."*

One wakes thinking: Something good must happen today. Last night, unexpected flowers at the door. Our tenants and friends, Doug and Angela, brought a Christmas bouquet.

I needed that. It was my something good.

Or one makes her own good thing. Borscht, the last of it, from the Saskatchewan beets. Who knows how long it's been in the fridge, waiting for Right now?

 

Borscht in close-up resembles an image from "The Walking Dead."

 

 

See how easy it is to waste one's day?

 

Last night I slept beneath my desk, with a comforter bunched around me and the hot air register, in the old way.

 

I watched travel DVDs that made me want to go to Munich, and Baden Baden.

 

Last night I wanted to be a girl again, with a bowl of Alpha-bits and nothing ahead of me but the decision of which friend I'd intvite for a sleepover on the weekend.

 

I thought about buying a new dress for the company Christmas party, but even thinking about it took too much energy. 

 

Last night I felt bad about all the charitable organizations that send me address labels and Christmas cards I never pay for.   

 

 

I thought about compassion.

 

About those I will never see again.

 

About protecting myself.  

 

Today is white and furnace sounds.

 

How to surround onself in light.

*"new snow, clinging" ... the title of a photograph by Edmonton poet\essasyist\photographer Shawna LeMay.