In Honor of This Day

The house is warmed by the small wood stove in the kitchen

New potatoes simmer in stock with leeks and carrots 

fresh from friends' gardens, the last offerings of the harvest

The day started with fresh snow in the yard

that quickly melted when the temperature rose just a little

Then dripped from one metal roof to the next with a steady rhythm

I can hear our tenant Evelyn's television through the living room wall that

separates us 

There is something comforting about knowing that an eighty five year old woman is there with a blanket on her lap and her black cat named Sassy at her feet

I bet she has a pot of something on her stove too

Molly shuffles in the room above me, curled up on the futon watching movies she's watched dozens of times, sometimes laughing out loud in her deep throaty laugh

She appears now and then to forage through the refrigerator for crunchy things and sips of something, often taking the time to make a cup of tea in the pot that no longer whistles

I like that she pours one for me too and never forgets the drip of honey that I like

Tim spent the morning stacking wood in the basement then putters about

scratching his head about what to do next, there's the sound of the bend of the tape measure

and the drawer with the tools and extra screws and nails slides open and shut

then the back door opened and closed as he heads to his shop for bigger tools

It's these days, marked by nothing special that I savor.

Unremarkable days that steady my heart long enough to fill it.