The Weight of Soft Things
This morning, my eyes are open,
but just barely.
There’s a fog
between me and the screen...
and every word I type feels...
like it’s dragging itself across the page.
Since Monday, I’ve been in caretaker mode.
Pishi
— my feline author with very high expectations —
is recovering from surgery.
The kittens,
all four of them,
treat every waking moment
like it’s a brand new world to explore,
loudly.
Feeding them is a full-time gig in itself.
My two loyal dogs watch it all from the bed,
never judging,
only waiting
for a walk, a nudge, a little time.
There’s no crisis,
no catastrophe...
just a quiet kind of fatigue that settles in
when the to-do list is all soft things:
feed, comfort, clean, cuddle, repeat.
It’s love that exhausts me.
And it’s love that fills the very same cup.
