It feels extra dark this morning, but he’s already awake so I don’t have to be as quiet.

The fog is so thick you can scoop it with your hands. I look for the trees with the changing leaves-oaks, mostly.

Something for nothing.

It sounds like something is erupting. Not the washing machine. Not the dishwasher. I see the water coming from underneath the kitchen sink. I run to the back door and yell for him to come back.

The last bit of tomato soup.

Always water with us.

Twenty-one days.

So much happier when I’m home.

Chicken pot-pie.

Foundations.