Poem for Friday and Working on Moving

Under the Weather
By Jessica C. Levine

The humidity breaks
into droplets
slow
and surprisingly warm.

The smell of ozone
rises
from speckled pavement
beneath my bicycle wheels.

The thwaps and plinks
on my helmet.

I sneeze
and send a flock of pigeons
soaring
into the bright gray sky.

-------- 

A little after 8 a.m., a truck arrived at our house to pack and move all our belongings to the west coast. They didn't quite finish -- the plan was always to load the truck on Friday -- but the only furniture we have left on the main floor are the couches, tables, and a couple of bookcases we don't intend to take with us, plus a gazillion boxes. The bedrooms are mostly packed though the breakable trinkets in mine aren't wrapped yet and we're keeping the clothes we need for the next few weeks in the closet formerly used by our older son and later our niece. 

The packers left around 5 p.m., at which point we did a little more packing ourselves, then ate some of the leftovers we need to get out of the freezer before taking a break to watch Ghosts. Then I talked to my Thursday night fangirl chat group in a room lit mostly by candles, since we forgot that once the lamps were packed, we wouldn't have a light source in the living room. At least the Orioles beat the As in a walk-off! I was told that I've failed to share photos of where we're moving, a place we discovered on our last trip to Seattle, right on Lake Sammamish: