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A hush falls over the house after the day’s nonstop activity. Candle lit, popcorn buttered. Wine poured. Newspapers spread. We read.

Your legs, thrown up on the table’s edge (as I prefer mine) with bandaged foot. We still run barefoot though we’ve now passed 60.

The chime and the breeze intersect outside the window. Swirls of sound and soft air enter through the screen.

Dog’s steady breath at our feet—in out in out, I watch him. There is memory of a tail wagging tucked inside my locket.

Puppy slid on round belly down the hill, ran to trees to squat and made us laugh. She too is now locked in our hearts.

Cat lounges on window ledge, one leg dangling in nonchalance until a fat fly finds her attention and she disappears.

We live these days together, you and I–you there, me here. Time, measured long before our existence, intermingling memories with these moments.

Lightening flashes in the north and the chime serenades to our dog’s steady snoring as Sunday slips away.

Rumbles of the storm approach, a candle flickers. We move to the porch and smell the rain before we whisper… Good night.

Photo: Hiva Sharifi (Unsplash)

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