SundayMonday

This can be deadly and for many people has been so -- but -- so this is the end of holiday blues cautioned about this time of year and the chill early dark doesn’t help. Sunday afternoon sudden bottoming out as my girls pack, drive away and are gone, returning to -- home -- college -- life.

Life is cycles. In Judges, creation-sin-judgment-repentence-redemption over and over. In Micah, doom-hope-doom-hope-doom-hope. At 2308, hello-goodbye. Not that the holiday is over, it’s the goodbyes and silence. Looking out across the Bay reminds that my family has done this five generations right here in this exact spot, two generations before me, then three with me, then four, now three generations, after +Time, generations beyond me. Not a time line; cycles.

Waxing -- what? -- maudlin? Give it up. Cheer up.

Anon, anon.

Anxiety ‘til the texts come, “Home now” and “We’re home!” and “I’m here.” Cheer comes with texts of safe arrival, zonked out sleep, Monday morning normal. Saved by iPhones.

Pathetic, defenseless prey: toothless, clawless, helpless Timmy the Toilet Paper Roll, unable to escape or fight back, stalked and gutted by Siamese Ernest in the absence of his tamers. Senseless slaughter.

T in +Time