Late in the afternoon, I walked by the creek,
its waters clogged by fallen leaves.
I made cheesy beans for supper and ate a bowl
with a slice of freshly baked Italian bread.
I’m in my bedroom studio now
and just turned on the the heater.
The sun’s gone and the air has taken on a chill.
Tomorrow will bring rain and trail cold behind it
that will last for days. It’s good weather for holing up,
pulling on a fleece sweater and warm socks,
listening to podcasts, maybe watching a tear well up
over the mess of it all, hugging my pillows,
snuggling with the gaudy afghan that Evelyn crocheted.
Barely noticeable lyrics sing from behind a velvet curtain
on the back stage of my mind: “Just keep going; keep on going.
Jesus closer than my breath. Just keep going. Keep on going.”
Sometimes that’s the best you can do.
And that’s okay.