She meandered into the bitter room, bushed as typical by an extensive day’s drudgery.
The latest of the fall’s cicadas twittered from the lively oak in her yard.
She fastened the window, red hangings relaxing to a stationary posture.
She transferred into her night attire, slack, silky.
Turned out the light.
And plunged into the crisp white.
Embraced by the pristine coverlets.
Enfolded into the feathery bedspreads.
Immersed by a downy pillow.
Drown from the tired imaginings of obsolete.
All in zeal to begin over tomorrow.
My first work, hope people like it . . .