It looks like this

A bright red nose and chain-drinking tea.  Avocado peels still on the kitchen counter, along with the rest of breakfast's dishes.  Robins splashing in the birdbath.  A sky so brightly grey I squint behind sunglasses.  We're nearly out of toilet paper due to the continual sneeze fits, as well as licorice tea and anything that might someday resemble a green juice.  I wear pajamas disguised as thick leggings and cable knit sweaters.  Neighbors baking sugar cookies, the scent intoxicating.  Bathing with slices of whole fresh ginger.  From the studio the peregrine winks from her twelve inches of canvas while the wolf, shadowy in outline still, leaps through a dusky sky.  The trashy remains of a manicure sparkle on thumbs, the rest picked off during a body-flu-movie-marathon.  Words of wisdom from soul sisters float against the ceiling:
"You are earth's daughter.  You are always on time.  And you are right sized for the life you wish to lead."