connected roots


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olive ridge

 yellow blue moon in the eastern sky

three boys: one tall one six one small

flash lights darkness

 

night games

 

a few short years

darkness will be home

to a teenage boy

 

my son

 

(glorious

each individual

and the whole of them)

 

this moment is truth:

rejoice in them

that is all there is

 

to do


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ping

As I write, jars of peach syrup “ping” as they cool. Fifteen pounds of plums picked from the neighbor’s neglected tree sit on the counter awaiting the same pureed fate.  All three boys are in bed after a full day: some school, some sword fighting, a visit with friends, and lots of reading and being read to.  Their bodies wrestle under the sheets after another well-lived and perfectly ordinary day.  At home.  

H O M E.  

It’s a little bit location.  It’s a lot of other things: contentment, service, commitment, gratitude, work, imperfection, love.  My feet are sinking into this dirt.  This grass is plenty green.

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