Today is the 9th; I just noticed my last post was on the 5th. I did not know I was gone. I think I came here and then started to daydream and wandered away. What was it about Sunday? Der Bingle left for the Ohio Redoubt and, oh yes, I remember: I cleaned for most of the day. Don’t know what gave over me. And a toilet clogged up and the plunger wouldn’t work and so Monday I bought a closet auger and finally cleared it. I am beginning to understand why these are not days that inspired my spirit.

Yesterday I went out for brief shopping in antique Shipshewana stores and lunch. Grilled meatloaf. Then back to Mother’s and lying on the sofa starting another one of her books stacked on the floor. Sometimes I close my eyes and think of all the different times of my life  . . . and at times, when my eyes are closed, I imagine some of the ghosts of the house’s past come and look at me. If I keep my eyes closed, I think I can feel them there.

Today I mowed. How many sentences have a written in my mind over the decades of mowing that yard around that old house on an old Indian trail? Lots, I think. And sometimes I think of the sentences others have written and let the rhythm of them echo and re-echo in the bubble of silence that exists inside the chugging of the power mower.