Curled up on my couch, wrapped in a soft gray blanket with a gray cat camouflaged on my feet. He purrs just barely and snores a little as he squeezes his eyes closed and soaks in the peace of the night.
Life of Pi is bookmarked and teetering on the edge of the coffee table crowded by news magazines, design magazines, business magazines. Pages from the Sunday New York Times are disheveled about the floor, articles picked apart and bunched back up. Only the sports section is left neatly and perfectly folded. A picture book of Ireland and a few random maps of the world hide somewhere in the messy intellectual stacks of paper.
The wet streets and speeding cars can barely be heard just outside the window. Rain pitters and patters on the panes and the cool nip in the air is just being fought off by the electric heater across the room.
I am happy.
In this small space no more than an area rug, the smell of cinnamon in the air, the promise of rest in just another moment, I am happy.