breakfast

We listened to jazz this morning at breakfast.
I hummed along while guiding her spoon.
Streams of rice cereal ran down her chin,
mingling with the slide of a trombone.
She patted her hand against the chair
like a singer keeping time.
Simple colors swirling, music swelling--
a busy morning turned suddenly slow.

empty

The softball fields across the street were empty today. I met with a friend, talked about teaching, passed the baby around, and stained my hands with earl grey. I want to talk about Kurosawa and King Lear, but I'll settle for Tarren Mill and talent points. My other half is mumbling about linear regressions and the little one is rolling across the kitchen floor. To kill time before I put her down, that's why I'm making a blog.

eponymous

4 zillion attempts to name this blog.