Sunday evening. I'm sitting in the dining room; the lights are out. The ambient sound of faraway cars is in the background--I hear a motorcycle rumble past. Behind me the refrigerator slowly inhales, slowly exhales, then whirs to a stop. An otherworldly ringing is in my ears. The refrigerator inhales again.

The air inside is frigid. I resist the temptation to while away the evening in storyreading--no, this day shall be for reading and writing. The story here is life itself.

Police cars in the distance beep and buzz. Beside me is a glass vase of roses--I smell them to check if they are fake. My mind is empty, so I open my book.

* * *

Finished Nora Gallagher's "Things Seen and Unseen". It awakens in my heart a yearning to be a part of some small "extra-curricular" spiritual group. There are a few options--I'll need to check the church bulletin.