Not every boon blooms from discovery of that magic elixir, except where coffee is concerned. Most are patched together from dryer lint and mended hems and insufficient bites of apple in the car and the dizzy-sick of last night’s back-to-school sleeplessness as the next sun sets. It was a good day, Mom, says Babygirl, well past the afternoon tears. I am a mess, she says. I hose her off laughing in the dark and leave the rest of the mess in the car, set the alarm, hoping to sleep soon. In a few hours I am up again, straight to the coffee pot, with food to the cat in the morning dark, saying Okay. Okay, day. Okay.
Okay, day
Onward