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I didn’t want to do it.

The bed felt just too good, enveloping me with the cool caress of freshly laundered sheets and topped with a quilted comforter, one fashioned by my own two disbelieving hands, a cocoon of crisp cotton patterned in a fun Halloween print of orange, purple, black and gray.

The minutes ticked by but I knew it was inevitable. Eventually, I tossed the covers aside and pulled on my pandemic uniform: black lycra leggings, turtle neck, sweatshirt. After a quick peck on hubby’s cheek and a ruffling of puppy’s fur, I left the house at 5:05 under a Hunter’s moon. The air was a bit chill though I would not have objected had it been cooler still.

I walked for an hour and until the last fifteen minutes did not encounter another human out and about under their own power. There were a few cars at first but before long the roads and streets were busied with people driving to work, stopping along the way to McDonald’s for a quick breakfast or to drop precious cargo off at daycare.

I never want to get up so early in the morning. Staying in bed somehow feels so decadent at times, like I deserve this, like you can’t make me leave, like you can’t make me do this! That’s okay. I allow myself to take a few minutes, then perhaps a few minutes more. And yes, I’ll fall back asleep sometimes and don’t wake up until well after the sun has notched a few degrees above the horizon. But I always feel better when I do get up, before the sun does and I get my walk in for the day, first thing. The day is just off to a better start when I do!

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i heard what you said / listen to it rattle round the inside of my head // gyrating like a jackhammer / unmuffled sin-chimes from our camel-hair bed // so / you tell me / you want me dead // or out of the house for a few days, instead / i can manage that / i think / give me awhile to give it a tink // if you don’t mind / and even if you do / if you would be so kind / it’s the least you can do / you don’t know that i’m privvy / to what i heard that you said / it’s all tucked away // up here in my head

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My Kindle overfloweth.

The upper cabinets of my computer desk are neatly adorned with books – lovingly sorted by collection, color and genre – but my lifelong compulsion to continue in the acquisition of these cherished avenues of escape have required that I stack books horizontally atop the vertical alignments. Floor space in our sunroom, relaxing reading haven where I sit next to bright, open views of birch, Chanticleer pear and a hodgepodge of bird feeders, serves as a display vehicle for books in baskets beneath a funky woven bench I bought at auction some forty years ago. They serve as solitary sentinels guarding the small, seldom-used television in the corner. They hover alongside the swivel rocker where I sit on cozy chilly mornings, a hot cup of chai close at hand.

Bookshelves reside in nearly every room of our house.

I’m susceptible to enthusiastic book reviews and recommendations. My Amazon cart almost always contains a new selection (or two or three) to serve as buffer the next time something really ‘necessary’ requires purchase, a means to scoot our total amount adequately higher in order to bestow free shipping.

I hesitate ever so slightly, shrug as if to say ‘what the heck’ and click the Buy Now button.

Have I gone mad? Certainly, I’ll never read all these books, these journals, these poetry collections. Will I? Is that even possible?

Sigh.

My baby sister chides me for my book purchases, preferring to check out her books from a library. I get it. Books are expensive. You finish reading one and then what? With so many books in my queue, it’s doubtful a re-read hovers as even a remote possibility.

But books are lovely. They give me so much pleasure. They are – yes, it sounds both strange and cliche – like old friends. Even the electronic versions provide no small degree of sublime satisfaction.

This cat is unlikely to change. I’ll continue to read, to acquire, to covet more and more and more. What can I say? I do love me some books!