On a quiet Thanksgiving morning, his bladder nudged him awake. He had fallen asleep alongside his youngest son, so it took him a few seconds to get his bearings as the alarm clock came into focus. 5AM. He pulled the blankets close as he arched his back, pushing his backside against the heavy breather next to him, milking a few more minutes of the warmth there.
Resourceful...
A few more minutes...
Keep going...
These days, he felt everything more....especially when it rained. His bones reminded him that today was different than years ago. Everything was becoming more palpable. The world was still messy and beautiful simultaneously. The road ahead remained unclear and yet strangely, curiously, mysteriously, it offered a warm, soft invitation to keep going.
1 AM...
1 AM. The shrill cry of a fox wakes him. ‘Did you hear something?’ his wife asks. ‘A fox’ he says, throwing his legs off the bed, hurrying to the window, searching for the source of the sound. Two more times the cry comes, as he attempts to focus eyes that aren’t ready to cooperate. He smiles at himself for being up at this hour just to catch a glimpse. What a spell this creature has over him. What good fortune, he thinks, just to hear her. Somehow, knowing she’s out there fills him with hope and a feeling of luck that he wants to share with the world.