A different plane

Life has led me here. Charlotte climbed down the steps from her bunk bed, and went downstairs to the kitchen. The dog circled and collapsed by our bed. Outside, the wind kicked up and the rain came on.  I reflected on work, then let it pass. All was otherwise quiet in the house at quarter past nine. In no way did it feel like Friday should be here, but soon it would be. I imagined myself at the end of the day driving home, and felt a tingle inside. There was no more to think or worry about, and I slipped off in a dreamless sleep with no remembrance of the day.

About pinklightsabre

Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in prose, writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to A different plane

  1. What a luxury! That feeling…

    Like

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