Ten.Six Hundred & Twenty-Seven
Quiet moments alone in the kitchen.
We run down the plan for the day. Woods. Lunch. Beach. Golden Gate Bridge. Baseball practice for the boys.
Middle seat all the way in the back. A different point of view. Holding hands with the two youngest. The softness of youth.
This drive always feels harrowing.
The way the light breaks through the trees. Sun dappled stream. The sound of water bubbling by.
Tomato soup at the park cafe instead. It’s just as good as what I had at Long Meadow Ranch but without the drizzle of infused oil.
I hadn’t intended on getting my feet wet but here I am with white foam breaking across the toes. The coolness of the water is refreshing. She falls trying to escape the water. The sound of the waves crashing. I could have sat there all day.
The colors of the bay. The city skyline. I remember that we live here now.
Yes, ‘85 was indeed a good birth year.