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My husband is an avid golfer and he has maintained a small journal detailing club selection, yardage, course topography and other helpful tips and tricks gleaned from the countless golf courses and tournaments he’s played in over the years.

I pulled a load of laundry from the dryer this weekend and found a small, curled up sheet of paper with what appeared to show some crude shapes and writing that I couldn’t quite make out. When I handed it to my husband, he groaned in dismay. He’d been looking for his journal and I had just unwittingly discovered where it had been. Sadly for my husband, the remains of all his copious note-taking was found at the bottom of the dryer drum.

He thinks he may be able to salvage some of it but I’m afraid it’s going to take some doing.

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Cozy and still
Despite flashing streaks of light across a darkening sky
And rumblings: low, deep and satisfyingly sustained,
She sips her cuppa.

Curled up in cushiony comfort, with a good read to occupy her thoughts
And a small, yet sturdy table top close at hand
From which to reach for her mug of warmth
She thinks how luscious and perfect this moment feels.
Peaceful. Calm. She is content.

Nature’s noisy and brilliant displays
Set to the music of a driving, late summer rain.
While here, just here, safely ensconced in the place she calls home
She enjoys the quiet connection of her mind and what some might call her soul
To the rat-a-tat cacophony of sound outside her window.

Fleeting, always fleeting, over and done with for some time before she recognizes the storm has past
And is no more.
She is jarred back into the Reality of Things
And gets up from her snug place of rest
To empty the dishwasher, fold towels and contemplate her next move.