a lazy afternoon when daddy’s on the river, in the desert.
boy 1 at T-ball.
boy 2 playing quietly in the grass and sand. asking questions about how old i’ll be when he’s a ‘dult. telling tales of how he’ll live alone then. with me.
boy 3 is doing the slither crawl. looking up on occasion to share a big grin. he never stops grinning.
now the grin shows two teeth.
reading a book as the wind chimes sing their song and the mountain sun in the western sky feels almost unbearably hot on my cheek.
the book that i read while i got the baby to sleep. finally. after weeks of no sleep. a sleepy baby that never stopped grinning and giggling. now he grins and giggles AND sleeps. (he’s cutest when he grins, so i’ll show you more of that.)
reading fiction makes life brighter. a different framework that feels so personal. i wonder if there really is fiction. so many lives already lived. so many lives being lived. so many lives yet to be lived. and all the stories in each of those lives. can there really be room for something that is fictional? amazing. there is magic to be found everywhere.