The days shorten, the deadlines thicken.

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.

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