Raindrops
spot and streak our window panes, and the white clouds from which they came
soften and diffuse the sunlight that makes its way into our living room.
Here I sit typing on my laptop with a fluffy blanket over my legs,
wearing a sweater that has been too warm to wear since spring, but now I
luxuriate in the comfort of being wrapped in the soft cloth. Like
Goldilocks with baby bear’s porridge, it’s not too cold and not too hot—it’s
just right.
A small
sauce cup filled with chocolate chips rests on the upright box I use as a side
table. My hand sneaks between the cup and my mouth without much thought
on my part; I notice more the bittersweet decadence melting over my tongue as I
search for words.
Cars sail
past the window, shuushing rather than zooming over the wet asphalt, and
in the next room, I hear the creaks of Joel’s chair and the murmur of Heroes
coming from his speakers. The tapping of my own keys sounds louder
than all of them—a sign of how restfully quiet this afternoon feels.
