Seasons Change

Love in a Life

By Robert Browning

I

Room after room,

I hunt the house through

We inhabit together.

Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her—

Next time, herself!—not the trouble behind her

Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume!

As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew:

Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather.

II

Yet the day wears,

And door succeeds door;

I try the fresh fortune—

Range the wide house from the wing to the centre.

Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter.

Spend my whole day in the quest,—who cares?

But 'tis twilight, you see,—with such suites to explore,

Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!

A lonely, blustery evening here at 407. I spent the last hour entering three days' worth of billable time, the thing that pays for the party, with the TV showing a whiteout blizzard as the Browns host the Steelers. All I could think is of P, my P, sleeping there on the eastern fringe of the snow. I should be there.

This whirlwind tour through the swampy corner of red state country ends for the week tomorrow. This time Friday I'll be picking my way into the crowded Dallas airspace in the dark, trying to do my duty to what's left of the folks who raised me and knew me when I was a pimply, sweaty ball of whatever I was at fourteen or eighteen. That part of my life is wrapping up now, I guess. It's the least I can do, even as I mourn every day away from P.

Yesterday the Kiwanis Club, my club where I was once president, the club held its annual Christmas toy auction in which members contribute toys and sometimes homemade goods, which we then buy in a riotous auction with our amateur auctioneers, only to donate the gifts back to the kids.

At some point a forlorn box of rocks was offered. No one bid, and I felt this pang of sadness for whoever took the time to paint them and donate that egg carton to help raise money for kids.

So I now own a $25 carton of painted rocks.

Don't tell Peg--Christmas is coming, and I want this to be a surprise.

What to do with all that--to be surrounded by people I've known and loved for most of my adult life, all caught up in a form of political madness?

And this place, which I used to love but now just leaves me cold. Did I outgrow it? Or is "outgrow" a loaded term, suggesting progress when really people just change?

I attended a pointless hearing yesterday, in person, with a judge I've known as long as I've been practicing, and opposing counsel almost that long. I won because I was supposed to win, and then we just sat there as a bunch of old guys talking about how things had changed since the ride began for all of us. The courthouse was just so quiet, so devoid of life. The virtual age, I guess.

Writing this before bed because I know I'll be up at 5:30 and trying to juggle tax classes and prep for the day. Work always weighs in earlier than I'd hope, and this blog is usually the first sacrifice. Tonight, at least, it's covered. A long trip through the wild blue tomorrow; one step closer to home with P, going the long way.