It's the little things,
the quiet peaceful things.
Like sunlight
Warming patches of still air,
Warm water
And soap
And the clink of clean dishes,
The soft shushing of the washer machine,
Daffodils
And forsythia
everywhere I look.
Blooming
On the table, the windowsill,
In jars and cups,
whatever I could find.
The sharp break of the whistling tea kettle,
followed by the soothing ritual:
steeping, stirring, sipping.
The swish of fabric.
The feel of cotton between my fingertips.
The smell of clean.
Lavendar
Tucked in to sachets
Slipped between the folds of scarves.
Wrap one around my neck and take deep breaths of fragrant linen.
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