This moment is vibrating, the formation of an event horizon.
Tonight I feel the tension before the birth of circumstellar disks, accretion disks, spinning matter in flat bands. Two disks occupy near space. One expands to spiral outward, colliding with and altering all it touches; the other spins debris inward, as if to a black hole.
Inauguration Eve ©19 January 2017 8 p.m.|Sandra R. Davidson
Spiraling In or Spiraling Out? [Image Credit: ESO/L. Calçada]
A month shy of his third birthday.
Many friends know our cat, Murrpey, had blockages in his stomach and intestine, one half of a toy in each. Surgery was 13 days ago and he’s been on a diet of the same flavor of soft food for the duration.
At some point he figured out it was easier to feed himself than to tolerate syringe force feeding.
Preparing my husband’s coffee this morning, I catch the cat trying to bury his canned food as he might bury his waste.
After they remove his staples tomorrow, I predict the surprise return of dry kibble, which he prefers, is going to go over very well.
©2016 Sandra R. Davidson (text and image)
I am still intimidated by posting myself to the world. There is no fear of criticism; I take the truth and leave the what does not resonate. The fear is in potentially and unknowingly hurting someone I know. And in knowing whether to post or publish. That particular murk gets thicker by the day.
Randy could see nothing exceptional in this man—a man at least twice their age. This made no sense for a survivor.
He slowly kicked open wide the driver’s door, his heart pounding against the constraints of veins. He tried to wet his lips with a dry tongue. What he wanted was a smoke. He’d quit tobacco three years ago and there was no one in the motel parking lot to bum a cigarette from anyhow. Continue reading
From behind, she snatched the soda pop can out of his hand with urgency enough to spray his clothes and the back of the couch.
“You know you can’t have regular colas—” She caught sight of the empty Drumsticks® wrapper on the end table. The pitch of her voice climbed. “Ice cream?”
She faced him. “You’re a diabetic. This stuff will kill you.”
He gripped in his fist the candy bar he’d opened before his wife’s unexpected return from errands. The chocolatey guts squished from between his fingers.
She stood back and crossed her arms, glaring as if he were her child. “What, have you got a death wish?”
He glanced away.
©2015 Sandra R. Davidson (Image)
“It’s my job, Rick.”
“Whoa, they laying you off?”
“Nah, I’m good, I’m good.” James took a drag from the fresh espresso. “I’m on the phone with a person for a minute, two max—except today. Today I get a 20-minute window into this couple’s life. He puts me on speaker phone and walks around the house. This woman’s voice comes on. They’re laughing together trying to get the motion detector apart. The guy finally manages it and she’s, like, cheering.”
Rick nods in the slow quiet between them.
“I could use me some cheering.”
©2015 Sandra R. Davidson (Image)
Candied Coffee: Sweet, creamy with a touch of vanilla.
To engage the world and remain centered is difficult. I suppose I’m a realist, not glib or glum.
“It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out.” —David Foster Wallace