hello friends. Wally here. i rustle in bed finding a comfy spot, and say what, i found dad lying next to me, what’s this all about? surround sound music fills the room, a tune called Sunday by HNNY. so nice. sleeping in with dad on this quiet morning, rare, this is. well, not exactly sleeping in, dad is tapping on his keyboard. what you writing about dad? he mumbled something about an anne frank and her wanting to write, but more than that, to bring out all the things that lie buried deep in her heart. So I peak over, and he writes.
1,174 consecutive (almost) days, this morning’s daybreak walk to Cove Island Park. Like in Row. Almost, the defining word this morning. I couldn’t find my way out. The streak, 1000 days, is long past, but the pull, the obligation, the call of duty, lurks. What is it that keeps me here? (Sigrid Nunez, The Friend: A Novel) “When you’re lying in bed full of night thoughts,” she thinks…having a huge warm body pressed along the length of your spine is an amazing comfort.” So Cove Island waits for another day, and I lay here, with Wally’s hot little body pressed against the mid point of my spine, with his soft little inhale and exhale keeping time, my time slows, it slows way down, and the edge of Worry melts away, and a little peace enters, a little Wally-peace that is.
dad, I don’t know who this anne frank is, but I like her very much. happy sunday everyone. Wally.
