Friday, December 14, 2012

Evening Moment

O. is whistling in the kitchen, some variation on a hymn. I hear him getting out a pot for spaghetti, moving things around. I am sitting by the front windows, trying to write my personal statement. The shooting in Connecticut is all over the internet, grief upon grief. Still the sun washes the sky in orange and pink, and the naked tree silhouettes retain their fragile beauty.

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