In Which My Foot Taps A Bit

The fallen tree is gone, and, just today

The insulation in my ceiling's back

As it belongs (long story; there's no way

I'll fit it in a sonnet -- but the lack

Of same has left me shiv'ring, yes!).

Two days stuck home and waiting reached an end,

But now I'm waiting still, but must confess

This waiting is more pleasant, for my friend

Is breezing through my town on errands for

The house she's building, and we're soon to dine

(Though she has still got just one errand more,

Or maybe two, whatever, it's all fine

Except I'm hungry!). What a weekend, no?

Back to the salt mine, too, I soon must go.