September 12, 2012
The tablecloth hovered a bit before resting. She smoothed the wrinkles and creases with a delicate hand while walking it's perimeter. It looked evenly draped and without stains.
A pot on the stove held a fine tomato sauce. Slowly reducing, the low flame bullied now and then by a breeze. She stirred with a worn wooden spoon. Clockwise and counter until the bubbles disappeared.
After resting the heavy lid, she closed the flame and turned her attention to the bowl of fruit. Filled with disappointing late summer peaches and sour kiwi. She hoped that the plums would be amenable.
The quiet was considered and then interrupted by a faraway train. She was grateful for the layers of sound. Hums and crickets, the unlocking of doors and, her own breathing.