Stranger Than My Fiction


Every day, I wake up, put on my uniform and smile. My gait is swift as I deliver the neighborhoods wishes and wants from my sack. It’s better than being Santa Claus.

And I smile.

My customers await me with open arms eager to make pleasant conversation as they let their dogs back in the house. They offer a hand with the bulky packages. We don’t speak about the weather because it is always sunny, but not hot not cold , never humid.

And pollen?


I smile. Because although the sun is still shining, there is no glare on the drive home.

Home- a beautiful, clean, comfortable place of solace. My kids are in their rooms doing their homework while the aroma of my favorite meal drifts from the kitchen and makes my mouth water.

And I smile.

After dinner, a hot bath awaits me as my clothes are pressed for work the next day. I meditate and pray then get rubbed down in lavender oil before I climb in my bed and hold her. Breathe in her essence. She’s the writer, but she edited my world for me.

And I smiled.

For real.


© michele mitchell, 2014


photo credit:


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