commuting, keeping house
Last night I took the campus shuttle to the train station to come home to the city, as I do every Wednesday. It had been raining hard for an hour or so and was just stopping when we got to the station. The sun was setting in the west, straight down the tracks; there was no city, just a sunset we were waiting to rush into. The sky had such depth. Salmon-pink clouds and flamingo ones were racing east overhead, and the sky was one of those peculiarly impossible blues, and the train came screaming and puffing up to carry us home.
Before I washed the breakfast dishes this morning, I put away the ones from last night's dinner. In the rack was a baking sheet I'd meant to scrub up later. Something had gotten stuck to it, so I left it to soak in the sink. Johann must have found it and worked at it quietly last night or this morning until he got it clean. And love just sort of stabbed into my heart. It was strange and rather lonely, to look around and find no one to hug in response. I wanted to rush out and buy flowers or chocolates or something, but I knew really I'd probably have forgotten all about it by the time he got home.
Before I washed the breakfast dishes this morning, I put away the ones from last night's dinner. In the rack was a baking sheet I'd meant to scrub up later. Something had gotten stuck to it, so I left it to soak in the sink. Johann must have found it and worked at it quietly last night or this morning until he got it clean. And love just sort of stabbed into my heart. It was strange and rather lonely, to look around and find no one to hug in response. I wanted to rush out and buy flowers or chocolates or something, but I knew really I'd probably have forgotten all about it by the time he got home.