these arms of mine

IN a clean, clear, crystal glass I've put ice and just enough scotch to swirl around with my thoughts. The air itself is clear, early spring cool tonight and the moon is just past its prime, a shade less than full & slightly sad. Inside the house, Otis Redding is singing These Arms of Mine but I am sitting on the steps of the front porch, watching a cat creep out of the alley and listening to the wind run through the bamboo.

There are no stars. A few cars drive the down my street but mostly it is quiet. I think of the people I love in the world -- of my family scattered like seeds across the map; of Squirrel deep in the northern woods; Freddy and Charles asleep in their beds and Crazy A who knows where. The daffodils are up and buds dot every limb and branch though the forecast calls for freezing wind and rain. This is how it is now, I think, and wrap myself tighter in these arms of mine.