It is December. It is a Monday. We are between daylight and dusk, between fall and winter. The grass, the stubborn grass, is still green, under the patches of snow. The branches are bare. The trees down to their skeletons.

A self-portrait.  Or as close as I get to one. What makes a person, a self? How do we know one? I would like to believe it is the world around me, in all its beauty, that helps all those that know and love me, see me. Sometime is missing in this though. Otis. Who is often within arm’s reach, my shadow when I’m walking, my alarm clock when I’m asleep.