Snow on Cedars

It is Monday morning.

There is snow lying on the cedars

outside the window.

The cat is sleeping

on the afghan-covered couch.

Dishes are stacked in the sink.

There is a basket of clean laundry

at the foot of the bed.

I will not pet the cat today.

I will not wash the dishes.

I will not fold the laundry.

The best that I can hope for

is to remember the snow on the cedars.

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