It’s Sunday, and the sun’s rays heap onto the coffee table. There would have been more rays, but the grit from the long-procrastinated window washing routine blocks them. In their place, the desert dust captures recent history, plastered to the glass and screen. The dust grasps tight the Yule days packed with expectation and the celebrated joy with family. It holds savored evening chats around the table. It’s soaked with laughter, forming a joyous rivulet streaking down the glass. The dust settles quietly, gathering peacefully, day after day. Soon I’ll clean the glass, making way for new layers of dust, and new dust, like new Sunday mornings, will return.