It’s Wednesday morning in Seward.
I’m sipping on chai that has been heated to optimal temperature on the borderline between scalding and palatable while snow falls softly and steadily outside. Hair’s still wet from a shower after a gym workout with the Distinguished Ladies of Seward minus one. Cats are munching on food, living the dream. Eat, sleep and bat my hijab clips and bobby pins around. Oh, and knock my pumice stone from the bathroom to the kitchen, you little rascals.
The phone lies silent next to me when a moment ago it wasn’t. Hoping and praying for the best. I’ll find out in a week.
In the meantime, there are stories to be told and the first draft of history to compose about a quirky little town that loves fiercely and keeps no secrets.