The humidity on Thursday morning was worthy of June, even though it was already late September. But the falling temperature did not make it uncomfortably hot, just uncomfortable. It was too cool for the air conditioner to kick on, and too warm to call for heat. The body core was hot, but skin shivered to the pending cold.

After lunch the wind picked up and by late afternoon, the humidity had turned into definitive dampness. Panes rattled in the old window sashes like a bag of bones. Just before dinner, the rain began.

I sat at the kitchen table and watched the drizzle. It hadn’t rained to speak of since July.

Soon the drizzle turned to downpour.

I was still sitting at the table as dusk fell on the day, as well as the summer.

“We won’t be in short sleeves again until May,” I thought to myself. I could have said it out loud, but there was no one to hear it, so I saved the effort.

***

It is Saturday morning and it is still raining and I am still sitting at the kitchen table. I have not been sitting here since the rain started, I don’t think.

The power is out, but I don’t mind. I don’t use the electricity that much; for the well pump, of course, and the freezer.

My daughter is supposed to come out and see me this afternoon, but the creek might be up over the road at the crossing. She will call me if she get can’t get out today, providing the phone is still working.

“We can have lunch tomorrow instead,” I say to myself, again saving the effort, “If you don’t have other plans.”

***

It is Sunday and the rain has stopped, but it is still plenty windy. The branches tap against the kitchen window. For a moment, I wonder if someone is at the door.

I have not seen Felix since Thursday, or maybe Wednesday. He must have found a warm dry place in the old chicken coop to curl up, otherwise he would be marching back and forth on the porch crying for food.

I am quite comfortable under the kitchen table. I might have slipped out of my chair. But even if the old oak should blow over, I should think I would be quite safe here. Julie didn’t come out yesterday, I don’t think.

I wonder if she will come for lunch today. “Maybe she will call,” I think without much effort.

***

The sun came out for a bit on Monday. I could see the light and shadows march across the kitchen floor, but it did not land on me. I was cold.

“I am still cold,” I think with some effort.

***

Another day has not passed – I don’t think.

It is now dark and cold where I lay under the kitchen table.

“Another day will not pass,” I try to think out loud, so I can hear it.

But I don’t think I can.

###

2015 Kurt Van Buren