Tortilla chips, completely smashed
30lb bag of cat food into the snow
Good thing I forgot the eggs.
It takes only a few minutes once I’m still, kneeling, cleaning the cat box; I have to do something at the moment to appear “natural” when it becomes obvious just what I have done.
I hold my breath and feel like the child who just spilled the milk in the small space prior to anyone noticing – the small space in time where people move in slow motion and there’s still a chance for escape.
Evidence of the act lies in the yard, and the door opens; my actions have been discovered. It is then after the big reveal that it is time to clean up the stage and make my apologies.
And so in silence, side by side we begin to put things back together. The now wet bag of cat food, cardboard on the food boxes falling apart. I imagine finding canned goods on the grass after the snow melts.
It’s not an extraordinary day. It’s familiar. It’s full of questions and apologies. There’s another mess to be straightened, but everything gets put away, and it is then that I can be still. Warmth has been restored to all of the orphaned objects once discarded as I wrap my arms around me and pull myself from the snow.