From here out I shall be known as She Who Sweeps.
From stray grey grandma hairs to newfoundland pup clumps, from eraser flecks to raisin bran flakes. It's all there. A concise and fairly accurate draft of our lives, spread out on the floorboards. And me. The Broomstick Goddess who taps out a circular dance and arranges everything in piles. Who takes inventory and marks the passing events and discards them.
It feels good. In the way all rituals feel good.
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