<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Work Rhythms on Own The Leap</title><link>https://owntheleap.com/tags/work-rhythms/</link><description>Recent content in Work Rhythms on Own The Leap</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sun, 30 Aug 2026 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://owntheleap.com/tags/work-rhythms/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>The Last August</title><link>https://owntheleap.com/posts/the-last-august/</link><pubDate>Sun, 30 Aug 2026 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://owntheleap.com/posts/the-last-august/</guid><description>&lt;p>Sunday.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>I talked to my mother at eleven. Fourteen minutes, maybe fifteen. I didn&amp;rsquo;t time it. She asked about the kids, I asked about her neighbor with the hip situation, we circled back to the weather, and she mentioned that August is ending the way you do when you&amp;rsquo;re in Illinois and you know what September means.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>We said goodbye. I set the phone down.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>What I noticed: there was nothing to manage. Before she knew, every Sunday call had a shape to it I was holding carefully. I knew what I was not saying. Now I&amp;rsquo;m not not-saying anything. We are just two people who talk on Sundays.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>