On the first foggy morning of late September the daylight cut itself in half and the moon looked full as we drove home from our birthday celebration for Charlotte. We climbed the steps to bed, the three of us (Dawn away for business), and in the middle of the night I heard an owl cry, the dog smacking her lips; I felt the cat by my side, and lay there thinking about work. It wasn’t bad thoughts, more like staring at a light bulb, the after effects. I knew I’d get enough rest if I fell back to sleep before the clock tolled again and I must have, for I had strange dreams. I’d normally have a couple drinks at the end of the day to calm myself, but it sometimes interferes with my sleep and has the opposite effect. I was doing push-ups after my shower to boost my testosterone every day, needed all the help I could get. Work was good but heavily nuanced. The Check Engine light was on in the car so I had to take the bus and I stood in the fog watching the power lines, the cobwebs in the trees, remembering when we left for the UK this same time of year, 2015. The bus was too warm but the tail lights looked like embers in the fog and made me think of Christmas. In the dark of morning I walked out back looking for the moon, listening to the sound of the dripping in the trees from the fog and dew. It was the sound of the earth beginning to cool, it starts from the top down.

Categories: prose, writing

Tags: autumn poetry, mid-life crisis, mindfulness, pacific northwest, short form, short prose, William Pearse writer, work-life balance