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Some Day, My Moe Will Come

It’s quiet in here. We haven’t had power for 24 hours. I’m watching the stockpile of Duraflame dwindle, and I wonder what kind of joy I will find tomorrow morning. Will there be heat? I can only hope.

Parts of me are warm, though. The inside parts. The place where I keep the happy and the singing and the love.

So for now I won’t worry about the load of towels that were 5 minutes in the dryer when the power went off. We’ll listen to Stevan Pasero on the battery-operated iPod speakers and I’ll watch the fire, knowing out there, somewhere, someone is thinking of me.