I want the boring, pre-surgery days back

TIME has been turning; ordinary days, filled with ordinary stuff, have moved quietly into the past without my noticing.

I’ve planted apple trees, written columns, and grown my bob out. My husband’s made coffee, chopped wood, and fed the dog. My daughter’s gone to and from school, to and from school.

There have been bits of poetry, lots of prose; we’ve put the bins out, kissed, washed-up, bickered. Talked about yesterday’s TV, watched the tulips come up.