Walking home from the library with a little boy on my chest and Little Men under my arm, I watched the geese fly overhead. I always seem to be out during the twilight hours, and the geese always seem to fly low over this town. On sunny evenings, their bellies are white with light. But today was grey and their bodies were black against the blue of the clouds.
I may be a morning person, but I think I have a twilight soul.
The street was quiet and Reed’s tiny breaths were loud and warm against my chest. I absently plunked a piece of pine and crushed it between my fingers to savor the smell. I often do this when I am sad or lonely or particularly apathetic. But today, I was only glad and content. I also pluck pines out of habit.
My cat was on the doorstep of my house, waiting to be let inside. The three of us entered together. The kitchen still smelt strongly of the peppers and garlic and lime that had been simmered with beans for lunch. The cookie dough I made this afternoon was out on the counter. I had forgotten that we were out of eggs, so instead of baking them, I snacked on another spoonful. They were made with sucanat. I like the way it crunches between my teeth.