Fine way to start the New Year, bringing in firewood, falling into the front screened porch door, hitting concrete sidewalk, brick steps, and an empty wooden flower box, usually brimmed over with impatiens.
Barely dawn, neighbors all sleeping after champagne or beer revelry, maybe they even went to Times Square, watched the ball drop, wearing silly hats and 2013 spectacles. No vertigo, no blood, I laid there knowing the men in my house were asleep also and who thinks to carry a cell phone walking 20 feet outside in their slippers before coffee?
I laid there, as the entire left side of my-head-to-my-toes screamed pain over cold.
I laid there on the concrete, wishing it had been a mossy path.
I laid there, looking closely at the brick steps, wondering if they were from the 1930's addition, since some were chipped.
I laid there, examining the porch door from a new angle, old screws in a rusty hinge, pulled out, just another thing to fix.
Slowly getting up, I glanced to my right, where the rust garden looked like junk partially covered by snow, seeing small tips of green starting to look for the light, right on time. It's no miracle; just the way of a certain flower, but I was glad I fell or I might have missed the beginning.