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An old life

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Written by Donald Hall

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 Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish mounded softness where the Honda was.
Cat fed and coffee made, I broomed snow off the car and drove to the Kearsarge Mini-Mart before Amy opened to yank my Globe out of the bundle.
Back, I set my cup of coffee beside Jane, still half-asleep, murmuring stuporous thanks in the aquamarine morning.
Then I sat in my blue chair with blueberry bagels and strong black coffee reading news, the obits, the comics, and the sports.
Carrying my cup twenty feet, I sat myself at the desk for this day's lifelong engagement with the one task and desire.

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