I was up for a half an hour before I realized there's a rooster that lives near by. Four long hollers through the black air. Morning is here. Fall is here.
Every time I walk my dog in the morning darkness, I am reminded of Winona, Minnesota and my dolls, and how I shoved their stalky rubber legs into the snow to make them stand--most of the times, nude, with that blank stare, plum-stained lips, hair--a complete disarray. I would come to their rescue and pluck them from the snow bank and wrap them in a doll quilt, carrying them to my first real car: a red convertible, with just enough room for me to sit with one doll on the front seat. There was nowhere to put my grown up purse, so I'd leave it on the sidewalk--hand me down lipsticks already beginning to freeze.
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