Outside, the sun shares the stage with the ragged-edged clouds, like an old shadow puppet show.
Inside, lego pieces click into each other and climb higher, building a tower which rises higher in imagination than it does in tiny reality. Johnny Cash strums on his old guitar, and sings through the decades, through record scratches all the way through to internet streaming.
I tap my foot without realizing it, as I pull laundry from the dryer and pile it into a basket, a colorful tangled-up heap of he-and-she-and-small person. There’s the lingering aroma of coffee and lavender, of biscuits and clean clothes.
There are dirty dishes in the sink and the bed is unmade and the couch pillows are on the floor, but I hum along and Aveline dances and this corner of Wednesday is the most beautiful place on earth.
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