Night Falls Fast

This is the first night of hot chocolate weather in Cleveland. The first night that I can sit on the front porch of a home that I own, wrapped in hooded sweatshirt and blanket, reading Agatha Christie. The street is quiet, except for a few scattered cars and dogs. The wind blows through the old-growth trees. There are a lot of things we don’t like about this house but the trees for Jim and the front porch for me are the best things. This neighborhood gets dark. I can always feel the lake nearby, and across it, Canada’s reassuring presence.