I lay on the couch watching the headlights of a milk truck glow yellow in the fog as it drove by the farmhouse.
We’ve been sleeping downstairs because Jon still can’t lay flat without a lot of back pain. Him on the big stuffed chair, me on the old Victorian couch.
It surprises me how comfortable the couch is, with its elegantly curved arms, and carved and scrolling cartouche. Jon had it reupholstered before I knew him and the cushion is stuffed with feathers. I know because every once in a while, one escapes through the weave of the fabric.
The fog came in the night and stayed until 8 a.m. or so. It chilled the air, then blocked the sun for a while even after it rose above the tree line.
We woke early and used that time to go outside before the sun. Before the heat came back.
After Jon took some pictures we sat on the back porch with a cup of tea. Zinnia dozed at Jon’s feet and when the mosquitos found us we retreated to the house.
Yesterday was as dreamy as the fog. During the day we read, ate, and slept. When night came we watched a mystery which always readies us for bed. Nothing violent, or suspenseful, we prefer plodding and dependable.
Jon needs to rest his brain so it can heal, and I needed to rest to gather myself. To slow myself down and be realistic about what I can and can’t get done these next few days.
Julz, my belly dancing teacher, sent me the playlist for our class workout this week. I won’t be going to class, but I can dance to the music by myself. I’ll be there without being there. Moving my body always makes me feel better.
As I tried and failed to take a video of the truck lights in the fog, Jon put on Van Morrison’s Bright Side of the Road and asked me to dance. It’s still hard for him to move quickly, with his bruised back and spinning head. But we hugged and swayed in the living room as the fog outside the window began to sparkle and shimmer with the rising sun.