#workshopped

When Harper is at home on her own, She keeps the light off so it won’t burn out. It is only switched on for good books and gatherings of her best friends and their best friends too.

Early in the morning, camping in the country, the sun burns straight through the day. Wasted in her sleep, light sets cold just when she needs a bulb the most.

The trip was planned before him. Now, after him, she may as well have come. Before she left, she unplugged all of her appliances. [a quirk he witnessed and said he loved]

Uncertainty swells: (in night’s time of siring) the backdoor, the hall light, her skitter-scattering of feelings of him ... unlocked, left on, latent ...

Harper–stuck in dark on public land remembers her youth: throwing sand back into the ocean to stop the encroaching waves; taping fall leaves to their branches to stem the tide of autumnal colors piled dead on the sidewalk.

And worst: desperately counting times at church she crossed herself for prayer because to her, an accidental odd number brought the next week under the bright gaze of God’s piercing realm. She’d leave in a panic– is God off or on?