A bag of a hundred tulip bulbs awaiting freshly dug holes.

Five comforters in need of hand sewing.

Two pie shells plus a bag of half a dozen apples ripe with possibility.

Four parsnips questioning the next step.

One dog to walk.

One performance to attend.

Two shin guards found.

Three window air conditioners to remove and put to rest for the season.

One napping husband.

Three boxes of winter clothes to unfurl, clean, and reconsider.

The weekend unfolds in numbers. Expectations are low.

The tree outside my window holds hundreds of leaves.

Yellowing and falling, they will disappear without anyone counting them,

Without anyone asking: “What’s next?”


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