I told someone today that I had only good thoughts of them despite discord between us.  They evidenced surprise.  I realized that I must have done a poor job of portraying my character, that I should be thought capable of holding anger and malice towards anyone.  Even if I am upset, that feeling fades. I try to put the situation into context.  As I drove towards an early evening meeting, one thought reverberated in my mind:  How have I been portraying myself?

My meeting date fed me a  lovely mealy from Lulu’s.  We went over Rotary business, noshing, laughing, trading stories.  In her charming apartment, I saw the sweet decor which she assembled for her daughter’s room; a striking art piece made from quilt squares; a couple of plein air works; and a painting of an angel done in a vivid primitive style.  I walked through her airy rooms, feeling peaceful, thinking of my own heavy decor.  Time to divest.

I drove home near dark, parking in the back while the dog watched me through the fence.  As I pulled my body up the driveway, a heavy wind rippled through the space between the houses.  A shudder overcame me.  I could not shake a sense of  impending evil. I had been touched by an ill wind blowing no good.  I paused on the front sidewalk, peering into the grey expanse of the street.  The unbroken blackness of the city night surrounded me.  Fatigue gripped my bones.  I steeled my body against whatever harrowing fear might claim me.  When I felt I could do nothing more from inside darkness, I went into the house, turned on all the lights, and secured the door against my demons.

It’s night time on the twelfth day of the thirtieth month of My [Never-Ending] Year Without Complaining.  A ghost has walked over my grave; but life continues.