Ten.Eight Hundred & Nineteen
It’s even cold for me. I walk to the windows and slide them shut but I still love the cool air in the morning.
List making. Just enough to get through dinner today and breakfast tomorrow. I trust they can manage the rest on their own. I’ll give some ideas. Would he call it advocating for myself if I said, “you need to figure it out on your own this week”?
I love the way the morning sun bursts through the trees in the cul-de-sac. So bright and golden, it almost sparkles.
“I’ll notice you,” I say as I make my way to the terminal and to her. So good to see her in the flesh again.
The weather is quite perfect and it will be quite perfect this entire week. Thank the gods and goddesses, the universe, everything that has conspired to make this week happen.
Just don’t answer the phone.
I burn the focaccia but it didn’t rise anyway. The chicken is just right. The tomatoes are just right. The corn is sweet. The wine is good.
I need another way of being.