The last pair of woman’s shoes has been removed from beside the back door. The last dainty white coat has been cleared from the closet. Two bottles of red wine left for me. Tomorrow the Winter Solstice and the shortest day of the year. Nobody I knew in the obituaries. My propane tank freshly filled and a bill for that yet to be paid. Two of my cats—the boys—fighting in the den. One expired boxelder bug upside-down on the kitchen floor. A fresh kitchen towel draped on the oven door handle. My stack of Christmas cards read, reread, squared on the dining table runner. Three out of the four retrofit compact fluorescent lamps pulsing in the paddle-fan’s fixture head. Troops home from Iraq. A little girl surviving her bout with cancer. Love and hate together in most corners. My midget Christmas tree now over-decorated with a dozen absurdly huge ornaments and looking like a fish stringer filled with exotic tropical specimens. Orion tipped a bit sideways in the predawn sky. New snow on the drive. Just me and me and some potted plants sitting here.
Just me.
--Mitchell Hegman
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