July 14: "In the Evening," Abby, Fellow Insomniac

Billy Collins at the end of day . . . 

In the Evening

by: Billy Collins

The heads of roses begin to droop.

The bee who has been hauling his gold

all day finds a hexagon in which to rest.

In the sky, traces of clouds,

the last few darting birds,

watercolors on the horizon.

The white cat sits facing a wall.

The horse in the field is asleep on its feet.

I light a candle on the wood table.

I take another sip of wine.

I pick up an onion and a knife.

And the past and the future?

Nothing but an only child with two different masks.

It is the end of day for me, too.  Collins is savoring the last remnants of the evening in this poem, and that is exactly what I'm trying to do.

Most of this Sunday, I've been traveling.  First, we came home from Calumet early this morning, dropped off my suitcase, picked up my son and puppy.  Then, we made a quick trip to Mackinaw City to pick up my great niece, Abby--one of my favorite people in the world

Abby is going to be spending the week with us, and my son couldn't be more excited.  These two truly get each other, and it's great to see them together.  Abby and I just finished watching the film Sasquatch Sunset, and she loved it.  (There are reasons why she's one of my favorite people in the world.)

Now, everyone is going/has gone to bed, and, despite the fact that I'm operating on about seven or eight hours of sleep over these past 72 hours, I'm not feeling particularly tired.  It could be because it's so warm--almost 90 degrees today, and it's still about 78 or so.  Or it could be my mind decompressing after a very busy weekend.  Or my mind anticipating a very busy week.

Whatever the reason, I am very much awake.

Maybe I'll read a little.  Or watch another movie.  Go for a walk.  Count some stars.  Eat some of the fudge I bought in Mackinaw City.  Write a poem.  Revise a poem.  Draw a picture.  Or I may just enjoy the quiet.  (Well, semi-quiet.  As I said, it's hot, and I have a fan blowing on me.)

Abby's kind of a night owl, so, she's probably still awake upstairs right now.  If she's anything like me, her brain probably has a hard time shutting down.  Too many things to think about.

Saint Marty is going to enjoy having a fellow insomniac in the house for a week.