The Essex Ferry stopped running three weeks ago. Now the ice has collected at the dock; it rattles. There is no traffic on the road when I come and go. I pull out from the driveway after glancing just once in each direction. I won’t travel as often to Burlington and I am tired of the strip malls that Plattsburgh offers. A sleepy cold has settled in. It holds me to its lap, making me nap too. I think of my mother, tired of watching me, hugging me as she dozed in the late afternoon. So, I settle and watch the grey sky from my window.
These days have little curiosities. The nimble fox darting around the corner of the barn, the five deer standing together, as if conferencing, in the middle of a field, and the Asian man who rides his bicycle down Essex Road. He has not abandoned his bicycle like I have. I am in awe of these small things.
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