At Least for Now
She folds sheets, snaps their rasping frozen weave against the gusty breeze. It’s hazy, monotonous work. This life is a poverty, likely a saint’s holy calling, but she keeps at it. At least for now. Life is a long twisted rope, so said her mother, and she’s glad for a warm meal, and a home to call her own. An uncomplicated life. The earth feels cool and soft between her toes, and she knows she’s standing on top of the world.
Wheat fields are starved.
Pretty stones refuse to bloom.
They’re locked in silence.
This week’s Sunday Whirl words: holy, folded, frozen, earth, poverty, saint, crazy, gusts, rope, rasping, home, hazy.RWJ #362: To live
It's Still Life 
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