East of Town

I love visiting N- and J-, who live east of town, down a long gravel driveway with grass between the wheeltracks. Their small house is calm and simple, heated only by a woodstove and surrounded by semi-tamed meadow and forest.

As I drove down the lane, I slowed so I could hear H-, their dog, galloping alongside the car. Laundry hung on the line and little watercolor drawings lay on the back porch table, where N-, J- and baby C- must have eaten all summer, as they had no usable dining room until recently.

While C-napped upstairs, N- made cups of peppermint tea and served mine in Fiestaware that matched my blouse. Sometimes talking with her is hard, because we have so much to say and I change subjects more slowly than she. Pauses in the conversation--which I need--are rare. But today was slower. The dog nuzzled my legs and we both watched her for a moment. The fire whispered and then it was time for me to drive west, back to the city.

The November afternoon lay down its sun and shadows across the road. If music has geometry, Loreena McKennit's voice on my car's stereo was the same angle as the slanted light. I was late picking up 1 from school, but not so late that it mattered.