Change the strings.
Trim the beard.
Make the bed first thing upon arising.
“Little things…”, as Mom likes to say.
Take a stroll.
Clean up the garage.
Fill in that hole in the back yard that you dug up five or six weeks ago.
Grab up a few weeds while you’re out there,
while you’re at it,
while you’re in the mood.
Sing a few songs,
old songs you haven’t thought of in a long time.
Write a few new ones,
ones you’ll forget about for a long time,
or maybe forever.
Remember your father.
Little bro.
Think about the good times,
the beginnings that came after the endings,
and the moments in between when all seemed to be lost.
Light a fire.
Let it burn out in its own time,
on its own terms.
Lay back and sink down into the dream once more.