WPC: Satisfaction

Since I returned to work from medical leave in May, my days have felt so dense with work that I feel so satisfied with the close of each day because I have been too exhausted to worry about much of anything in those moments. I lie down in bed with my tablet and read just a few pages of a public domain collection of Father Brown stories by G.K. Chesterton. This ritual is like a drug-free sleeping pill to me. By the third or fourth page, I’m slipping into that semi-drunken state wherein the mind wanders to places I’ve never seen in my waking life. One moment I’m reading an achingly pastoral scene of Fr. Brown and Flambeau riding in a boat on a river whose banks overflow with wildflowers, and then my mind takes me to a 1940’s kitchen brimming with lattice-topped pies and well-composed salads . . . or I have a drone’s eye view of a street market in Marrakech . . . or I see someone smile who seems to know me though I have no idea who they are (or so the sliver of mind that is still awake tells me). The possibilities are endless in those few moments before I surrender to sleep.

Satisfaction

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