2007/fires

The hardest part for me is no minute of solitude or quiet. That only comes when I lay down at night to go to sleep and then my mind starts thinking about what was left – the pang of remembering how much I loved my Ann Taylor Loft pearl bracelet, images float in, the earrings sitting in my jewelry box, the big brown leather purse lying on the floor in front of my closet door where it fell. Walking through the dining room on my way out, looking at the sewing machine sitting on the dining table where I had been altering clothes. Later I thought of the new khakis whose hem I had just pressed into place earlier that day, lying across the green wicker chair.