Potpourri

I sweep the floor at six a.m. while they sleep. How mundane does a day get than this: using my early hours of private time to do housework? This is time I have held nearly sacred. I have kept it close to my chest. I was selfish for years about the limited time that belonged only to me. Today I feel grateful. Something brought this feeling on. Perhaps it started with dread of losing what I have. These days are violent and frightening. This house feels like sanctuary. Without the others, would it be a prison? I am grateful as I sweep up their leavings.

sweep during sunrise
vitamins, coffee beans, dust
proof of life

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