[3] Through wooded landscapes, silent and invisible

We wake together in darkness. I light the woodstoves in kitchen and studio, and boil water for tea and warm Emma’s morning blanket. I step outside to watch the winter morning gather under the first sun and to smoke my morning pipe. When one star is left in the sky, I’ve stopped knowing who it is. I return and brew tea. In our bed, reclined on three pillows, Emma has tightened three blankets over herself, pulled them tight to her chin. She cradles the mug of sugary tea in her hands and lowers her chin to inhale the steam. She cradles Johnny in her arms and throws a furrowed stare of disbelief at his first yawn bubble. Then she offers him to me for safety, reaches for a fresh vial of Reisler’s Blue Riband, pulls the cork, and tilts. These days, three swallows all gone. Then she gazes lovingly into my eyes until her pupils clench and roll up and her thoughts sag back down to the pillow in an opium coma, while I place a drooling pad under her cheek and tuck her
in till night returns.