Is this the last of the coffee?

I stir the oats slowly while I listen to the coffee percolate. These dark mornings remind me that summer is over, a new season is upon us. I do not mind the dark.

Cold feet.

Relief.

She asks me for an update. I tell her that it’s best that I call because it is a little more complicated than it seems.

She always reminds me that I get to choose joy and trust in what I am able to manifest for myself. “You wouldn’t be sitting there in California if you couldn’t.”

Intuition never lies.

Blessing of the grapes. A few stories.

I want more time.

He gives me a rundown of what is happening this afternoon for each child and where each child is and where each child needs to be. Then I tell him about all of the things I learned today. I had a good day. I needed a good day.

He manages to talk me into meeting most of his requests. Maybe it’s because he’s the baby. Maybe it’s because he’s so persistent.

“Look at the sun,” I say. “Like a neon sign,” I say.

“…self-narration and self-archiving known in Western society as “journaling”. Our journals, the catalogs of our lifetimes, form life libraries that confirm our testimonies to our future self and descendants. Our written narratives are the foundation of our matriarchal integrity, and the act of journaling postures us to live in wisdom, lives of dignity and virtue in a society that profits from our mental enslavement and dissonance between past, present and future.” - Chimene

We could tell a more compelling story.