there is this

There is a cat on on the sill of an open window behind me and freshly fallen snow, a pot of soup on the stove made from frozen summer harvests and the other day, a drive to a thrift shop for scarves and a chat with the woman who runs the shop, who was delighted that I bought so many because, she said, they are buried in scarves and I said that’s music to my ears.

I like scarves, I told her. And she laughed.

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