Still room for tents

Just when I start to worry that my son is outgrowing fort building, I come home to a tent pitched in the living room.

He emerged from the gauzy folds and informed me that he was the only one who could enter

because he alone had an entrance bracelet (a la theme park), which he had re-purposed from the ring around a mayonnaise jar.

With relief, and wonder, I peeked inside. I relished being forbidden entrance.

Right now, the places where he doesn't want me to enter are right in front of me, in the middle of everything. Someday soon, the secret places he will retreat to will not be so visible.

Comments

I entered August without you.

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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Growing Versions

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