Day 339: 4 Oct 2016
73 words, life + my morning
Sadness pools around the spindle of her soul. Raw gray wool, damp with tears and fraying, winds around and around and around. Tight and compressed before spilling onto the spinning wheel. But the thread is too heavy; it breaks the fragile wood, breaks the frail construct of her happiness and productivity. Crrrak. The wool spills across the floor, clogging the room, the center of her soul. She sighs. Time to clean up again.