Indiana Bones

I’m missing her before she’s gone. I think that’s what I’m feeling caught in the space between present and absence. I mourn when the sun sets because it means I have to stop walking around with my Polaroid snapping scenes of her laying in the dirt. Maybe it’s those blurry squares that are causing my premature nostalgia. 

I haven’t found a way to recreate the outside magic inside at night. I know she counts down the hours until dawn when she’s back out in the cold. 

That’s when I found myself cranking down the temperature to 67, the lowest Bo will tolerate. He did it for her, but not without grumbling, “I’m in my long pajamas and coat.” Indy watched with curiosity from the porch as I pushed back the couch and piled its cushions on the floor. She prefers the soothing coolness of our ceramic floors so I created a pillow fort for us to join her down there. 

When I slide open the glass door, she comes in without the usual coaxing and plops down on a cushion. Bo responds, “She always did like this couch.” I wonder if she thought it was odd that I found a way to bring the couch down to her. I never let her on the couch. She’d have to wait for me to leave and as soon as the door clicked shut, Bo would report that they were cuddling on the couch with great satisfaction. 

I wasn’t sure she’d watch. It’s hit or miss what grabs her attention, but we are hellbent on watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. When it’s over and before I turn on all the lights, I think:

I’ll never know if it was hearing her name or her commands of ‘let it go’ wedged between her two favorite people, but that’s how I found the outside magic inside. 

Today’s prompt was take a seat in a dark room and let the mind wander.