Usually this space is for professional stuff – what’s coming out, going in. This summer is quiet, and I start feeling how nice it is to slow down, to keep the brain from its incessant buzz. The baby’s almost two, and language is coming on line: left, right, counting, letters. Toby’s rolling around in the grass, and I want to imagine that he’s feeling the texture of his summer-cut shorthair against the grain. I wake up early, write a bit about zombies in the backyard, with the hope that the spotted fawn will cut through.
Yes, next month there will be a book review of Shena McAuliffe’s wonderful story collection We Are A Teeming Wilderness, and The Stills is really taking shape (albeit a typically asymmetric one). But for now it’s the wait for lightning bugs, eating cherries with my parents, the greenhouse heat and humidity of Western New York, and the heron perched at the Brickyard. Bougie, yes, and still beautiful.