saturday morning

One of my favorite things is to get up on a Saturday morning, and go to the kitchen to boil a thick rich espresso and heat up some milk. I toast a garlic bagel and spread it with butter and cream cheese and top it with salted tomatoes and capers. I stand barefoot in my kitchen and work, listening to “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” on NPR, the news game show taped in Chicago, which always makes me laugh.

And then I take my coffee and breakfast into the living room, cuddle under my green fleece blanket and read. The sky outside is white and the trees are bare. It feels like a quiet winter morning. I’m reading “The Farming of Bones” by Edwidge Danticat, a beautifully written story about a Haitian orphan growing up a servant in the Dominican Republic. A candle is burning, giving off a faint perfume scent. Save for the ticking furnace trying to heat my D.C. apartment, it’s so incredibly quiet and peaceful.


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