This morning he pulls his arm over me and it is rough where he was a good father, fighting thorns to pull down more blackberries. I've left the door to the deck open all night and now fog is rolling over the eaves. The air is so chill I can feel the warmth rising from his arm. He smells good. I make a point to tell him this. In some ways, it's more important than telling him I love him.

The day is fading now and I would like to do something today other than spend money. So I rearrange garbage, compact recycling, boxes and wrappings from other days of spending money. I like to rustle around out in the carport at this time of day. This time of day my favorite neighbors come out, the deer that emerge to go up the slopes to forage, the buck that sits with his neck braced under his crown of antlers and works his cud with surety. I look down the side of the property line, the path they like to mosey up to the road. They are not there, but a new nest of beer cans is.