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Striding down the stairs

I see it again

The web of silver icing the rails

I dash to the kitchen

Hoping for relief

But I see the mountain, staring at me

Running to the garden

Coffee in one hand

I do not hear bird song

But a cry for water from everything around

Tired, miffed, I break a sweat

When does this end?

I hold my breath

Inhale, exhale

My heart speaks

Darling girl, you are not a rhythm

But my masterpiece, perfected with every beat

Everything is art

You, your home, a handmade craft

A tear hugs my cheek

The sun fishes a smile

Suddenly it is not clothes on the line

But inking ideas in clear sight

It is not sponging the dishes

But scrubbing the dark thoughts into something bright.