feathering the nest.

I am wallowing, simply wallowing in the usual sounds. Most of us seem to have shaken off this sickness.  Slept last night and not one person has cried here this morning. Not a one.

The sweet dulcet tones of getting along.

Looking around the house.

There have been vague, nearly imperceptible shifts in cleanliness.

It is enough.

The vision is beginning to be tunnel.

Wavering on the edges to nothing.

All those things not done, simply not mattering anymore.

Food is tasting good. All foods. It is like a carnival of eating.

Fattening up my babe. Spinach, spinach, spinach.

Gulping red raspberry leaf tea. 

So bitter last week. Now just the thing I am craving.

We are close.

Moments where I stop walking, talking. Focus on what is happening.

The practice contractions that are not.

Pouring, dipping candles.

The smell of beeswax in every room

Holding candles, crayons, modeling wax to my nose.

Letting the vapor of it flood in and push out negative thoughts.


*keeping myself honest with a Write Alm prompt today; the five senses.

my brain is hard at work feathering and battening down the hatches of it’s own nest lately.

39 weeks. 


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