Sketches in ink 34-35
Days pass too swiftly into night but there is little rest; no snug hearth nor the bed of yesteryear with warm arms to enfold me as I drift into dreams.
It is cold and already dark, yet I have chores outside to complete, and shutters to close.
I look inside as I pass the kitchen window. It seems so inviting, so companionable. I wish I lived there, I thought.
Oh. I do. How odd.
©2015, Allison Wright
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