The dog follows the sun around on the rug all morning: sleeping, waking, moving.
Sidewalks have been snowblowered, plowed and then the wind and melting rearranges the cast-off snow into phantasmal shapes.
Finding old photos and putting them in holders around the room. Marveling, when this was taken 9/11 had not happened, Tyr had not gone to Iraq, what small worries I had.
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