julierichmond

It is the middle of May, The air is warm. The sky says close to sunset; the dogs have been fed and are barking at a child on a scooter.

This afternoon there were no birthdays or trips to Shaw’s Market, though we should have done something about the lawn.

There have been three walks around the block twisted in leashes and clutching small bags, a trip to Marshalls to buy a belt with my dear friend, Chris, a long shower, and maybe a face mask when I’m done here at the table. I’ve chosen my clothes for the morning, I’ve packed up my lunch for tomorrow afternoon.

I’m moving slow on a Sunday night because I truly believe I am ready for Monday.

My daughter is home from college, but she’s out for the night. My husband is working. The dogs have stopped barking and in an hour they’ll be looking at me and then looking downstairs towards my bed.

The washing machine is almost done, I need to remember to switch tomorrow’s skirt to the dryer. I need to remember to check in on my friend to make sure she made it home safe to New Jersey. I need to check the calendar for my next dentist’s appointment so I can ask for the time off from work.

I’m moving slow on a Sunday because I am ready for Monday, and everything else that is heading my way.

It is the middle of May. The air is warm and just outside my front door, I smell peonies and lavendar. There is an evening ahead, and hours and hours before morning comes.