Saturday was chore day - cleaning the rain gutters in the nick of time before the downpour commenced, bleaching the kitchen floor, doing every last dish, vacuuming and the whatnot. As I cleaned the dirt out of the runners in the window I found myself uniquely falling in love with the house. Tending her needs brings us all a little closer.
Our day of work culminates in a walk to the store in the rain. The dimly lit back alleys don’t betray the standing puddles of varying depths. Discovery is left to stepping right in it, which is perhaps the most adventurous and fun form of revelation though Ed’s socks might disagree. While the stories of people’s dramatic lives whirl around us, I find myself strangely comforted with these simple events - the radiating warmth of the kitchen contrasting the cold rain tapping the sidewalk, windows and rooftop, the thought of vacation in the springtime to a secluded beach in the tropics, the smell of wet wood on the breeze.
Sunday starts early with coffee on the sofa and the morning stretches lazily into the afternoon. The rain sustains a constant percussion. Water droplets bead in rows across the clothesline, catching light and glinting like little diamonds outside the kitchen window. The world is quiet and inside today. These are the rhythms of life I so longed to feel and hear through the deafening roar of the City. Suddenly in this small town I’ve found room to breathe.
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