What can YOU say in six sentences?
James Salter started a chapter with two sentences, "Life is about weather. Life is about meals," so she took those two sentences to the porch in the evening, folded her legs up to her chest and put her chin on the words.
She supposed they'd do in place of real meditation.
The vegetable garden had tired dusty leaves and earlier in the day the heavy fruits had fallen off in her hands as if in defeat.
The white and gray laundry hung on the line, dry now for several hours, just perfuming itself in the crisper air, and she remembered how she had looked at the window that had been open for two months with surprise when the autumnal frosting on the summer air blew across her desk.
She supposed she didn't really meditate since she didn't banish any thoughts at all, like how reading glasses made people feel old and how human cats seemed at times and maybe she'd have some of those tomatoes on a sandwich tonight and what is a foot fetish anyway... they all just drifted along.
Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, she rose and pulled a grey sweatshirt off the line and shrugged into what it had saved from the day.