The morning sky is the color of wind. The winds sway in the wind. While walking the wind, he stops to wind then scratches at the wind. We pass two winds who bark and wind alongside the wrought iron wind. My winds water and wind drips down my winds. Today’s forecast: wind.

Taco burps with a hint of lime rise and rest in my throat. It’s evening. The pains of the day have settled in my joints. The shoulder feels pinched, ankle swollen. My hungry mind checks phone apps like opening the fridge every few minutes expecting the decadence of chocolate cake to appear.

The southeastern sky is southwestern red. My thinking is apocalyptic. It’s dawn and I’m already contemplating the ends of things: days and weeks and storms not yet arrived. Next to me is the January Special Remembrance Section of the newspaper. Once-full lives captured in 48 folded pages – as if that were possible.

Under a milk jug sky, a mourning dove rests weary on a telephone line. Squirrels hop branches on a crooked pine shaking loose last night’s rain. A swarm of blackbirds pass overhead. Dozens of tiny black sails flap feathery in the wind.  I can almost feel their beating in the pre-spring dawn.

At eight twenty-four, the recycling truck pulls away. Bottles shake and clink. Heavy tires dip and rise in rain-filled potholes. Across the street, the parking lot of the Dunkin’ Donuts fills and empties, fills and empties as if on a time-lapse video. Life is movement. Life is bustle. Life is being recycled.

In a patch of sun, the dog whines because he’s bored. We play tug of war.  I can see across the backyard through the neighbor’s glass backdoor where an orange cat sleeps in a different patch of sun. The dog doesn’t chase the rope I throw. In the sun, again, he whines.  

Crouching down, the man in the chicken coop spreads hay over bald spots on the ground. When he’s done, he ties the wire gate shut. Shakes it. The midday sun does its midday sun thing. It shines and shines in crystalline air casting window shaped patches of warmth on living room floors.

There are sirens and fire trucks and then more sirens and fire trucks. The morning wind blows south and east. It smells of wires burning in the distance. For a minute, the rain falls sideways. I look for smoke, but the open-air gaps between the houses and trees are filled with clouds.