This past few weeks we have been carmelizing down by the seashore. Fireworks in the shape of a school house flared into the black night and split us right open to the rhythm of the sea and the tides and the tea kettle. I made plenty of mistakes parenting my kids each day, just like usual, but the difference was I could turn them loose on the sand and they could build up an empire between us. We walk away each day from one doomed empire and return the next day to loosen the sand and build another.
I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.
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