The house is warm. I have all the windows open and the birds are singing. Somewhere off in the distance I hear children laughing and playing. I hear a lawnmower. There is no wind, the chimes on the deck are silent, the aspen trees are still. My husband is off on his walk and my daughter is out with friends. My life is moving at half-speed.
I feel like taking a nap.
Time for a guilty pleasure instead. I put a load of towels in the washing machine. The sound of the water mixes with the sounds of summer. I fill the dishwasher. I like to make everything fit, like a puzzle. I vacuum, moving the machine back and forth, back and forth. The rhythm sooths me. I empty the vacuum and experience satisfaction, seeing dirt leave my home makes me happy. I put the towels in the dryer. I pick up little things that accumulate around the house. Shoes under the chair, a water glass on the bedside table, junk mail on the counter, a candy wrapper on the arm of the couch, a towel on the bathroom floor. The house takes shape, order is created.
I take the towels out of the dryer and hug them to my chest. They are warm and scented with lavender. I fold them and put them away, hugging each towel to gather the last of the warmth. I lay across the bed and a nap overtakes me.