High fog outside - homey weather. I grew up deep in the fog. I remember hourless white skies. Clumps of fog rolling humorously, gothically down the street outside our windows. Am almost able to drink it through my skin like a redwood tree.
The smell of tea tree oil on my chin. Inside a soft cotton mask.
S. has turned all the lights on, opened the blinds, and made the bed by the time I return from the bathroom in the morning.
Warm running tights.
Crows yelling in the power lines overhead.
