Monday, March 26, 2007


The cat is curled up into the crook of my writing arm, his breathing a delicate purr. He still hasn’t found the bravado of his voice. The rise and fall of his body slowly tries to lull me to sleep with the pen in my hand. Through the window, lying in the dying light of a gray afternoon, I see the beginnings of buds on trees pushing their way from the core. Squirrels are dancing, leaping branch to branch, tails high in the air, chattering loudly and twitching like old men with Tourette’s in attempts to start the mating season early. The sounds of my family spread out in separate rooms, the bleeping of video games and the turning of pages with a soft voice telling a story of her own, brings a smile. Each taking a comfort in the time spent alone with themselves tells me, solidly, without spoken words that we have found some peace in this world. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by The Beatnik 2/08

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