What was on the wall that day.
Pulling a hot loaf out of the oven.
My wife told me to take a nap. I am not used to being taken care of. I took the nap.
Slipping into bed in clean sheets.
My mother taught me to make her bread. I am making it now. The kitchen smells like her.
The smell of my grandmother's potato salad. She would not give the recipe. I'm still trying.
Sun on the back of my neck while I weed.
A teenager gave up his seat for my mother. He insisted.
My partner saved every postcard I ever sent.
Walking into the library on a hot day. The cold. The silence. The smell.
Walked into a room and was glad to see everyone. All of them. Even Steve.
The way my dog circles to find the perfect spot before lying down.
Public restrooms. Underrated kindness.