My Craft

Beyond the Faded Wallpaper

Sunday mornings I rest; no talking, no movies, and no human interaction. Once the dogs wake me, I lie on my pillow and stare upwards. Last Sunday, I counted 337 holes in the ceiling tile around the light. So far, the number hasn’t changed. Over the past few weeks, sounds are richer. Birds share greetings, and leaves slap against each other. Bees hesitate among the flowers, and I swear the hedge hides a family of…

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