From the Latin: Hoc Die

I am up before the dawn as usual, standing in my kitchen, feeling happy and healthy. It is warm out and for a time I stood in the yard and listened to the wind in the trees stark against a black sky. It is the deep breath before the exhale and also happens to be Thanksgiving, an American holiday I chose not to politicize because I'm not that bored.

Last week's snow has melted, compressed, melted, and compressed again, and everything is slick. I never shovel my walk. I have never shoveled any walk that was mine. I am a wearer of boots and simply trudge through. Because of this my walk is now an icy death trap. I wish some Jehovah's Witnesses or Mormons would come.

***

It is a few hours later. I went through the gray dawn light and now the sun shines bright from the side of the sky that says morning. It's the newborn sun and I live yet another day. The amazingness of my very life holds me and I cultivate it, not wanting it to let go. It courses through me, does life, a secret electricity invisible to all probes. Both science and religion are helpless in the face of it, though both would never admit it.

For no reason at all and for but a little while, here I am.