Evening

nothing worthwhile in the mailbox a hint of wood smoke in the air as I pull my feet through the long un-mowed grass looking up at the last smudge of fading sunlight thinking that I should just keep on walking like John Muir with only a coat three books a loaf of bread and my faith such as it is instead of up the sunken stairs finding the lock with my key in the dark feeling my way to the bedroom turning on the fan kicking off my shoes dropping my clothes to the floor finding the sheets and putting my self between them hardly waiting to close my eyes.