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Under the Blanket

By Maggie Turner


February 13, 2000

Under the Blanket

 

 Closed Eye

In front of our house and fifteen feet above the ground, a different community exists; its members are birds and squirrels. Five birds are on a line; pigeons I think. Their feathers are fluffed and they appear to huddle. It is easy to understand their posture; it is very cold today. Now there are three birds on the line. "The Neighborhood" dates back to the 1940s. The telephone and electrical service structures date back to that time as well. There are many overhead wires; this supports a thriving community. The pole in the boulevard in front of our house has ten lines radiating from it in various directions. One has only to look to the sky for company here.

Attila treated us to another "half the fat" one-crust apple pie. As if that was not enough, he spent the afternoon preparing low fat scalloped potatoes. The roast ham was high fat and high sodium; small helpings were in order for the ham. Of the six pounds I enjoyed gaining over the Christmas holidays, four have disappeared. I love it when Attila has time to cook.

For being such a short month, February takes a long time to pass. It is a month where I tend to turn inward towards myself. The world outside my own front door temporarily ceases to exist in any significant way. I have a tendency to spend time reading and pondering the meaning of life. My expressive energy seems to have submerged itself in the depths of my mind, finding its way to the surface only in my dreams. By the end of the month my daytime activity may resemble sleep walking.


 

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