Today, a Weekday

Today, a weekday, I woke with the light and stared at the oak tree until I understood it was raining.

I made breakfast, stuffed my sons’ backpack with snacks. A growing boy with an endless appetite.

What if we accept the void? What if we say, Oh, that’s just the void and we will never understand it.

The rain pelted the window. I imagined all the smells unleashed outside, the good and the bad. I knew the backyard was full of dog poop.

The radio announced a dying star was swallowed by a large planet.