[Penned out during the power outage.]
Let no concept of time disturb me.
There is a kitten, or so he likes to think himself, snuggled deep within the blankets on my lap. Curled to me as much for warmth as I to him.
Shadows waltz around candlelight to quiet renditions of Leonard Cohen on the lucky-to-be-charged MP3 player and an old speaker saved just for this purpose. Their steps cover our living room in mid-atmosphere of a town wide blackout. Each sound separate from the silence under a growing blanket of unnaturally natural dark.
My sister sleeps in bundled quilts, stretched out over office and lawn chairs. The Siamese waits for her to still, gauging her body heat for his own comfort. Husband of mine is also sleeping, his form a bed for the other kitties, their eyes and ears moving frantically to catch the latest storm gossip rattling our windows.
It’s cold but I feel warmer here in the dark than I have in a long time. I haven’t felt so at peace beneath candlelight since an eight year old me spent dark nights beneath the warm glow trying to decipher fantastical stories in my grandfather’s too still home. It was as if the air around me was stagnant, only alive in the flicker flames though we had plenty of power.
Even then, I am reminded, I was a dreamer.
A word dreamer.
Now I enjoy the same moments with my patch quilt family and tell stories all my own.