Imprints: a meditation

“I bought more steno pads today. I’ve opened the package and put one in my purse.” I can hear her shift, her clothes sliding against the fabric of her chair. Her breathing. In. Out. As I hold my own breath.

“Okay.” I sigh. ” I’ve started writing in it. I love the pale green paper with the pale rose red stripe. This is dumb. I mean it’s a steno pad.”

Silence. Breathing. A bus on Lexington. A child’s laugher. The maple frames of the tall windows glowing in the afternoon light. The chip on the edge of the door to the small bathroom, showing brown under the white.