Thursday afternoon, 1:21 p.m., I hang laundry outside

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Today.

Quiet in the house. Construction noises loud outside.

Outside, 20 degrees C, sunny, windy. Clothes on the line whipping in the breeze. Small dog settling into dead leaves in raised garden bed, beside newly greening rosemary and thyme.

Thinking of the books I will write.

Seeing their spines in my mind’s eye. Sweet imagination.

Even while pressing down anxiety, clothespin in hand: What’s happening after school? Where do I have to be, when? Which carshare car have I booked? How early does supper need to be on the table?

I think, pasta with the last of the tomatoes.

Small dog stands, alert, to warn me of approaching pedestrians, big diesel trucks, other dogs, a squirrel.

Locating myself in time, to this moment.

Thinking of all the books I will write.

Everyone will get to where they need to be, even if they are a little bit late. Even if we are always, perpetually, just a little bit late. Rush, rush. “Mom, we’re fast-pokes, you and me.” (Fooey, age 7, and always organized and ready to go.)

Thinking a run in the woods. Touring the science fair. Soccer under this swept sky. What good kids I have. I will write them a book.

Clothes flapping to dry under a promising sky.

All the books I will write. All the books I will write.

Yes and no
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3 Comments

    • What a terrific piece! Thanks for sharing it with me.

      Reply
  1. “Alert minds open to the grace of chaos” is what it actually says — a much better line. I’ve just had a baby and my tired mind is anything but alert. Hoping to get to that place one day…!

    Reply

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