The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

Make haste while it doesn’t rain.

Relish the crush of the leaves underneath feet.

The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

A crash: the shower curtain gives up its elasticity forever.

The leaves ground into carpet, the vacuum cleaner waiting.

The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

I wake early, write an intention to take 1 minute at a time.

The days shorten, the deadlines quicken.

I make bread, the impatient kind because the store-bought loaves keep growing mold.

The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

Thanksgiving calls to me: after deadlines, slowness waits.

The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

I use a timer to mark my work tasks: is that 1 minute at a time?

The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

Coffee in, dog petted, 15 minutes of free writing: check.

The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

One minute at a time.