retreating figure

I seem to have taken a vow of silence.

Though if I have, it is from that unknowing part of the self that does what it wants without telling anyone about it.  This part that almost always gets its way.

It’s not just being busy.  More like a reluctance to be overheard.

But this morning I found myself thinking of this imaginary space.  Curious about it.  So I opened the door to look in.  The space is still here.  An empty room, a little dusty, shafts of cold winter light.

I am not ready to come back, but I think of you who have met with me here with fondness.

For you who have asked —

— The adoption process crawls on.  Instructive and affirming to us as a couple, as a family, regardless of whatever final decision

— Middlest, who hoped for a spot on a college running team, is gaining strength again, has quit her wheelchair, quit her crutches, though she is quickly tired. Tonight she goes to her Bicycle and Pedestrian Commission meeting.  I wonder if she will have anything to say about cars and soft-bodied humans trying to use the same roads.

— And Statisics?  Having finally submitted to it, I find it so far mostly comforting — and bland.  Which is just what I needed this term.  Something like a nice egg custard.  Not so much about the inner workings of the universe and the fingerprint of God as it is about different ways to display countable evidence.  Limited but useful and contained.