The techie glitches through the zoom screen.
The red-winged blackbirds in the bare aspen limbs.
The tight metal scrape of my fork against the insides of my thermos.
The hollow, gravity-filled crunch and snap of my sneaker through the remaining snow on the bike path.
The silent volumes of panic and overwhelm that oozes out of wide eyes that meet over the tops of computer screens mid-zoom as we consider the ramifications of adding one more thing to our plate.
My heavy sigh as I sink into the couch when it’s still light outside with zero energy left in my bones, throbbing eyeballs, and the hopes of a full refuel for two upcoming days of 7:30am – 5:00pm zoom conferences.