I run boiling hot water over the floors steaming away dirt, germs, and spilled tomato sauce. They shine. In the morning, strawberry yogurt splatters and speckles the dark wood dotting our landscape with accident and mistake, and by afternoon, thousands of bread crumbs confetti the counters, tables, chairs, the bottoms of our bare feet.
Now it is evening. The joys begin to settle in the house, loosed leaves on a windless day, and I find my soul glistening in the mercies that come falling with sleep.