It was a summer day, sitting on the porch; the sky was clear and blue, her work all laid out, coffee to drink, easily and steadily working through the various decisions and responsibilities of the day. Her breath was slow, her shoulders down. Nothing was pulling at her.
He'd been working on the report for three days straight; the last sentence had just gone in. He filed the papers away, poured a slow coffee, sat by the window. His mind had stopped reaching. Nothing was left to do.
It was early, before the day needed anything from her. She sat with her tea at the kitchen window, watching the light move across the yard. Her breath slow, shoulders down. The day was far away yet, and she didn't need to hurry toward it.
