Ten.Six Hundred & Fifty-Five
Oops. Not enough eggs.
I step over a handful of snails and walk through the garden bed to snip the rose. It’s as if it doubled in size overnight.
They won’t stop talking about the dead racoon and rabies.
Alignment over balance.
I realize that the queasy feeling is my gut telling me that I’m pursuing a course that would make me exactly like them. And that’s exactly what I don’t want.
Staring at all of these words is making me cross-eyed. But I’m putting it on my list of things to do. Because I want it.
All the laundry. It takes me 2 hours and 45 minutes to just fold all of the things that had been sitting in the baskets for the week.
It’s the hammock.
The little corner fills up with high school boys in their baseball uniforms. Maybe it’s because I’m about to go pick up my own son, clad in a baseball uniform, voice not quite as deep. I feel thick with loss at the idea of him aging, and also excited for what could be possible for him.