2. The wind flattens itself against the brick house, roaring away in defeat.
3. Laundry. Sweeping. Roaming the house. A hot bath to cure a cold.
4. When I pull the laundry warm from the dryer, I usually dump it on top of Nora if she's sitting on the couch. My mom used to do this to us, too. And when I tipped the basket over today and began to fold, I stopped and crawled under and sat warming there for a good while with my eyes closed like a cat in a diamond of sun. And I remembered a doctor who passed me once when I was sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital hallway, and he asked if I was cold, and I said I was okay, but he went away not believing me and brought a blanket that had been warmed. He draped it across my shoulders without saying anything, and the long brick corridor turned human again from this anonymous warmth.
5. I was writing some poetry today. Here is a little though I don't understand everything about it yet:
How she needed even this domestic miracle, the bread
Rising, to remind her to lift her head.
6. [ ]
7. Tomorrow: Slow cooker apple sauce and a Saturday Morning Cake (on Friday). Grocery shopping and poetry. I'll have to buy plums...