Ten.Sixty-Three

1. The air this morning. And the sky—how it had layers of lavender in it. 

2. I show a picture of my face today. Because I too need to work on being seen. I think of all the ways in which I hide.  

3. He helps me secure my rental car. I tell him that sometimes I still feel like a child. 

4. I ride with him to the city to pick up some wine for work. The 40-something miles there and back are mostly quiet. It's not that o have nothing to say, it's just that sometimes there's too much.  

5. I make the chicken noodle soup early. Sweat the onions in a little bit of olive oil and butter, add the garlic, then toss in the celery and carrots. Snip a few sprigs from the rosemary bush and strip some oregano, toss those into the pot. Everything is so fragrant.  

6. The best thing about going down to one cup of coffee a day is that I no longer have that hard crash in the afternoon. I tell him that it's nice to be able to still do a little work, to not feel like I can't stand on my own feet. Overall, my mind does feel as though it moves more slowly. I think I can be okay with that.  

7. We shoot some hoops and play a little soccer in the backyard. I thank him for playing with me. This little one. He tells me he sometimes gets lonely because he doesn't have as many play dates as his older siblings.

8. Her friend joins us for dinner. It's so odd to see the sixth chair occupied but she is good company.   

9. My face feels heavy. Allergies. 

10. We sit them, and some others I have yet to meet, around the fire pit. We missed the sunset but there's still this creamsicle-colored glow coming from behind the bern.