Sunday night

I am finally in bed. Everyone is asleep, for the moment. I notice the flash of distant lightning flicker around the shutter frames and wait to see if the thunder following is loud enough to wake anyone. It’s not. I think I can hear rain beginning to fall but it may just be wind through the trees in the ravine. I can hear the washing machine going. I wonder if Mr Chewbacca has remembered to turn off the ice-maker as it scares the shit out of you if you hear that ice tumble into the box downstairs late at night. You think someone’s down there. 

We are close to the dream here, I know. There’s goodness to be had here, a good life. Years before we could buy a house and who knows where we’d live… (Guelph? Rockwood? Somewhere outside of Ontario? Because the government reminds me of the NSW government in terms of their planning, consideration for the inhabitants and corruption… At least there’s snow.)

But that dream, that’s going to be cut short now we’ve made the decision to go home. I want it to be the right decision and I’m looking forward to being back but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not quite right. I wish this stuff was easy like it used to be when I was in my 20s. 

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Author: curiosikat

Writer, editor, linguist, social historian...

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