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In the dim light of dusk, following the season’s first snow, he unloads the dishwasher. Stacks of ceramic, handfuls of silver, and gleaming glass are put in place. She lies and listens, as if measuring her moments.

Cupboards’ metal magnets snap shut from shaky hinges while drawers slide open and shut on old tracks as if having conversations.

Her legs supported by the couch’s strong back, arms creased at the elbows, hands cupped over heart still weighted from sleep, she shuts her eyes, as if corralling sensations.

Beneath the wood floor, the boiler churns and exhales while dog paces, circles, and senses he is going to have to wait for supper.

Soon she will understand why her father layered on his watch, over-shirt, beeper, socks and slippers, six times a night to take his measured steps to the bathroom. For control; what if he fell?

From the kitchen he turns on the faucet, the water rushes past her thoughts. In the distance she hears the sound of a chime singing, Calling all angels!

Outside the leaves are covered with thousands of intricately woven snowflakes, like grace covering thousands of intricately woven souls.

She rises and takes measured steps across the floor, remembering her father, then feeds the dog.

Photo credit: Hadis Safari

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