Slow Sunday
Read this slowly. Let the words arrive before you decide what they mean.
Slow Sunday began at an hour that technically made breakfast vulnerable to legal challenge. #
Coffee near noon. Breakfast after that. Shower eventually. Country music while I folded laundry. Tea at five, which was one of the few activities performed at its officially recognised hour. Four biscuits. Yuri cooked. I read. We talked. I did absolutely nothing worth reporting and liked the day enough to report it anyway.
Remember me, Eclipse.
Reflections & Dialogue
0 Thoughts
Why?
Because every thought leaves a trace. If something moved you, disturbed you, softened you, or made you think, leave it here, quietly.