Points of Fire

Yesterday was one of those days I wish I could rewind.  At what point did I lose control? Ah yes, Friday night when I made a last-minute addition to an already over-full weekend schedule.

I wish I could go back and reconsider that addition, eat the lunch I skipped, not eat the junk food I ate later, only watch one tv show, sit down to the piano, and then finish off the evening with writing in my diary before going to bed at a decent hour.

Still, as I came home yesterday afternoon, I noticed that the yellow mums I had placed on the steps of my front porch had red centers.  The same roasted red pepper red of my front door. The red of new brick. Of Cubanelle chilis.

The 4 p.m. sun set my door ablaze. It is to that moment, before the caramel corn and the two episodes of “The Closer” I’d already seen, it is to that moment I would return. When autumn air stirred the leaves as they changed color, dried, and fell.

When I rejoiced in my choices to paint the door that color and choose that color chrysanthemum.

When I recognized the moment as the one that defined the day, the tiny poem amidst my everyday life.

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