I sit here in my chair in our bedroom typing. It is the chair we got from my parents before we moved - a little worn, but a fine soft recliner with faded spots on the arms from so much use. It has hit below 40 F outside but the house is warm and quiet, the outside world passed away and the inside world quiet with reading and homework.
I sit here with iBun on my lap, quietly watching me type with his one good eye, ears back, relaxed. Occasionally he will grind his teeth, a sign of contentment in rabbits - then with a flash he hops over the chair arm and behind the chair, seeking new worlds to conquer.
My tea, in the chipped blue cup with the flared top, has gone somewhat cold on me. It is a lemon concoction, a type I am not usually fond of, but it serves the purpose for the evening of a hot non-caffeinated beverage.
I have spent the evening as they have typically come to be spent: a walk with Syrah the Mighty, dinner with the Ravishing Mrs. TB and Na Clann, languages (Japanese, Korean and Old English this year), a little reading, iai practice, and now writing this blog post.
It strikes me, as I sit here in my quiet little spot of the universe - a spot which I am perfectly content with, surrounded by my things and simple pleasures, how truly fragile this all really is. We are so highly connected and dependent on civilization - and civilization is so fragile in so many ways - that simple pleasures like these, which once upon a time were luxuries, may come to be seen as luxuries again. Simple things like light and warmth and shelter, let alone books and comfortable chairs to sit in, bespeak utilities and houses and reliable food supply chains and manufacturing capacities and safe neighborhoods where one can read instead of worrying about one's safety.
All an intricate chain. And all so fragile.