She wakes in the middle of the night, delighted that her toes feel a tiny bit cold. Slivers of moonlight come through the window and rest on the bed. She arranges herself so that the moonlight falls on her face.
She dreams of spiders. Big spiders with legs like yellow wax beans. In her dreams she kills them easily.
She wakes and listens to the radio. She is tickled to see that her hair looks sassy. She listens to the Dear Hunter and eats her cereal and wonders what it would be like to be the true love of someone whose music leaves you speechless and floating near the ceiling.
She drives to work with the window down and waits eagerly for her chance to escape to the park at lunch.
It’s September but it’s the first day of Spring for one cooped up too long. There are ambient sounds and scents. It reminds her of nothing and a thousand little things. Emerald Lake, cornfields, stacking wood, pushing the stroller, armloads of books, Mendon Ponds, deer, the Heart, gravelly roads, sweatshirts, miniature golf, beer, grilled mushrooms, rooftops.