Saturday sun rays crept between the blinds. Eight o’clock am. I adore this golden hour, meaning freedom to sleep extra and to slow down after a busy week. All I wanted was to shrink back into my comforter, make a latte, and maybe garage sale — and clean my house. These are what I consider gifts of the weekend.
But a friend — moving out of her home — invited me to help her clean her house.
Continue reading “Mourning Stretches”
Abigail Rehmert 