welcoming weariness

by Peter Bower

The exhaustion is arriving. I want to be home in the kitchen sitting wrapped up on a stool while my mom makes stir-fry. 11 days until break.

A monthly student literary publication came out on Friday. A friend of mine had the following poem in it. I find it fitting.

X.iv Nebula

Last Tuesday the sky                                                                                                                   Was so steeped with fog                                                                                                               That we could see nothing                                                                                                             But the faintest outline                                                                                                                     Of trees in the distance.

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