Every time we say we’re going to travel light.
And every time it’s like moving a circus complete with
There’s the rabbit in her travel cage
with her litter and feed.
The dog, ancient but hanging on,
with her old-folks kibble, her mattress and
The children with their schoolbooks
(you wouldn’t believe how many),
clothes for every eventuality and
that fill any car beyond capacity
particularly when an adult is simply in the mood
to contemplate the dotted line
and the pastures
and the peaceful cows grazing
along the drenched, autumnal route.
On the return, there’s the food we didn’t eat
but are too frugal to toss,
packed in insulated cool bags or not,
Lunch makings for hungry stomachs on the road.
A parting baguette which we pick up at the boulangerie
on the way out of town.
Water valves closed.
Drawers, closets, and crannies checked for those things
that mustn’t be
glasses and retainers and
themes due on Monday.
And then the last part of the ritual:
yes, out loud
to every room and favorite thing
including the enormous spider who lives by the kitchen door
standing sentinel and witness
until next time.
What is it?The Daily Cure for me is trying to smell taste touch—really experience— something, each day, that reminds me that I'm alive and, mostly, happy to be here. A small moment that should go a long way, at least in theory.