Slow Sunday.

Quiet house. Listmaking. Hot coffee. Soft socks and Birkenstocks.

Salt crust around his nose and mouth.

Car wash. Water keeps blowing back in my face. I think I’m doing this wrong, but something is better than nothing. Sweating as I vacuum all the crumbs.

Present-self thanking past-self for thinking this through.

Space.

We really were only one away.

I keep saying that I’ll have a break before next season, but that’s not true. I’m already pulling together summer and pre-season and the first weeks of November.

Too many Rice Krispies treats.

Gratitude.