Porthole

Quite ill and pensive

Two gallons of milk balanced with each hand. $6.50 lighter in the pocket. Room made in the fridge. Fragrant yellowed cottage cheese thrown out. It dawned sunny, a crisp -5ºc warming to +2. My cough is subsiding, the raw throat not as pained. Third day back and time crawls slowly between my bed and the swivel chair behind the geraniums too weak to cry out when I returned. 10 weeks of neglect. No blooms but now they have been watered. I'm not dreaming of my next trip yet. Too frightened that I may be severely ill from my own stupidity. Even downloading my thousands of photos or writing a short story may have to wait. There's time... I reassure myself... not believing it.

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