We're supposed to get snow tomorrow. The kids and I are gathered in the living room, me in the comfy chair and the kids piled on the comfy couch in front of the fire. I've got a stack of papers that need to be graded, but instead I'm listening to the idle chatter and surfing about on my laptop. Outside, a cold rain pelts down through the trees, bringing down what leaves remained.
Inside the house, post-it notes have been dropping, losing their stickiness as the fire dries the air inside the house. We've been sweeping them up and throwing them away for weeks now, but still I keep finding more. I suspect our extra kids decided to join the fun and add some. I found lines of Dylan Thomas' poetry on the microwave, song lyrics on the cupboard. I picked up a seashell from a shelf and the note that fluttered down said, "Can you hear the ocean?" And it was just the other day that I noticed that the Raggedy Ann in my office, a doll that my kids find creepy, had been tagged with a note that said, "Why so serious?"