practical magic?

doing ordinary chores in extraordinary times.

I’ve swept the surface of the painted canvas floor cloth that covers my living room 56 times in the past week. It’s astonishing really, the dead leaves and the bits of gravel and the tiny pieces of plastic soccer field turf that get tracked into an apartment. That’s without counting the tumbleweeds of hair, or the feathers that work their way out of pillows, or the crumbs that concentrate under a certain child’s seat. That’s saying nothing of the dust motes and the dead skin cells and the toenails that didn’t make it into the wastebasket the last time I corralled my children together for a joint clipping.