I started a new story, and Kavya came in when I was writing. First she was impressed with my candles — I tend to write by candlelight, when I’m in my study. It helps me focus. We had a brief discussion of why she couldn’t take candles up to her room, until she was much older. Yes, they’re pretty. I know. Then she asked what I was writing, and I showed her, and she asked me to summarize, and I told her to just read it — I’d only written a page. She got a paragraph in and gave up, saying, “That just makes NO sense.” Well. Maybe she’s right. It’s only a first draft, after all — maybe it will make more sense in the morning. Maybe not.
“Sergey hummed under his breath as he walked to the Orish temple. His steps retraced a path he knew so well, he could have walked it at night, in the dark, under assault of wild storm or even missile fire. Ridiculous thought – the Orish enclave was the most peaceful place he’d ever been, so calm that Sergey didn’t even need to hum to soothe his newborn daughter, fast asleep against his chest. Three days old, and still Katja mostly slept, which both his wife and the doula had assured him was normal. They laughed at his anxieties, but they didn’t understand how Katja’s small griefs pierced his soul. They couldn’t, of course. He was the only one who truly felt what she felt.”