To Get Back Home Sleep Pretty

Outside, we have fog and mist this morning. My hair is angry and rebels against the bond of the ponytail holder. A barrette gave up long ago. It writes when it can but its letters are filled with regret.

Last night, we shopped for groceries while outside a downpour carved new paths in tentative landscapes to the creeks and down to the river. We brought in our grocery bags as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled distantly. Soon after, the downpour turned torrential, so we counted ourselves lucky to be home and snug indoors. I examined the register tape like tea leaves for portents of success or failure. It was only then I noticed I’d forgotten, alas, orange juice.

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