this is the fabric of our days now::
morning's dark like a curtain hanging over our windows, over our beds;
waking brutally hard on all of us.
breakfasts: oatmeal with too much brown sugar if you ask me, and apple muffins that can be whipped up and served up before the girls come downstairs. fuji apple juice from the market and cartoon drawing at the kitchen table.
the walk to school like a ride through a theme park; this tree changed since yesterday, that one on fire today and dropping red-orange embers to the ground.
collecting bits and pieces all along the way, all throughout the day:
seed pods full or cracked open and empty, two acorns grown together, leaves that look to have other leaves fossilized right on them. branches with a few still attached.
these things now live on the table in our hall. shine with flickering sunlight, with flickering candlelight at night.
night bringing closed doors and a pot of soup. bread with salted butter, a begged-for splurge. pasta again. too easy. too comforting.
jam sessions in the basement. messy messy rooms. library books overdue and piled here and there. chunky knitting. cereal before bedtime.
cats on the quilts stacked on the back of the couches and chairs. cats asleep on our feet all night long.
until that curtain lifts again slowly, and the next morning's begun.

xo,
tt