A wake on Thursday. I balanced the dahlias on my lap in the backseat and listened to Drew and David talk flour while we drove. The Turkish Red will be planted soon. Fall’s coming. Drew said, the closest you can come to bracing yourself for death is to garden and watch the seasons.

We pulled into Fondy and the car ahead of us had its rear wiper torn off and left running, giving a little wag every few seconds.

Reid and Caroline’s wedding was beautiful. This morning I carried and chased Zeke around the grounds, to his patio spot. He found some rose heads and I spun the dewy blooms around on his cheek and forehead. The child was in heaven. Then he found a pile of gravel to lie on and swish his arms and legs in. I made a mound of pebbles on his belly, until they started to look like something good to eat, and then I carried him away while he screamed and cried and gathered my hair under my chin, begging me with his eyes and lungs to take him back.

* photo by DWJ Studio