The First Sunday of the Year
Read this slowly. Let the words arrive before you decide what they mean.
The first Sunday behaved exactly like a Sunday, which I took as a good sign. #
Late coffee, clean sheets, laundry, music, a walk, something sweet, tea at five, four biscuits, absolutely no interest in turning the first Sunday of 2015 into a symbolic event. Yuri read on the sofa while I went through photographs and deleted eleven almost identical pictures of fireworks because apparently I believed repetition would improve focus. The tree is still up. I am not ready. Nobody has appointed me Minister of Removing Christmas.
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.