The Unfolding of Sarah

Previously

…The burnt toast, the spilled gravy, the runaway cat – they weren’t just problems anymore. They were the vibrant threads in the rich tapestry of her life, and her poems were her way of weaving them together, of making sense of the beautiful, messy, wonderfully unpredictable whole. She was Sarah, the executive. And she was Sarah, the poet. And for the first time, the two felt not like opposing forces, but like two sides of the same, increasingly delightful, coin. Whiskers, curled up on her lap, purring contentedly, seemed to agree. Or perhaps he was just dreaming of his next great heist of a stray sock. Either way, Sarah wouldn't have it any other way.