Ten.Seven Hundred & Ninety-One
The orange glow of pre-dawn.
I decide that more cereal is on the menu for breakfast. Because this is the first week.
The Art of Slow Writing.
We decide that none of the albariños taste like albariño. And is this a shift in style or inexperienced palates? Maybe both.
I tickle him enough to get him dressed so that we can get the rest of the items on the list.
Had forgotten how good he looks in real pants. He opts for the skinny jeans over the straight leg.
I watch him walk ahead of me. The length of his legs and the width of his shoulders. We walk by young men who are a few years older and a few inches taller but I see him in them. I can’t believe that this is the human I gave birth to.
No clearer than before.
What is being said versus what is being heard. Add a filter of experience through which all the words are passing through and then you get to what is being felt.