There is a fire burning.
I wake up each morning and light it
And move my dog’s bed from my room
To its second home in front of the fire.
And I work.
Late afternoons we walk around and stretch
I tear my eyes from the screen
And pick up a book
She curls next to me on the couch.
We watch the sun set over the cornfield
We wander around the park
Dog on her leash
Soft moccasins on my feet
A cool darkness all around.
Evenings we retire around
The fire once more
We check the locks
And go to sleep together.
Suddenly I am tangled in someone else’s routine.
There is a warmth in my hearth,
It will be a good year.