The weekends to our fronts and backs do not see us sitting still– and I am pleased to have these days filled with ones who are beloved, pots of lentils and cups of coffee and the gunpowder and woodsmoke in the air to come.
Recently Jake bought a motorbicycle and, because he is legally still a Maryland resident, this weekend found us in his ancestral state. In Baltimore, while I was perusing vegetables, eating eggs and seeing art with Ingrid and Franco, Jake was passing his motorcycle exam in a parking lot just outside the city. And, after jumping Black Death Car and filling its ancient tires and smearing three months of urban slime off its windshield, we caravanned down to the southern part of the state to eat a late dinner with zee Madre y Padre de Jake, to sleep, and that is about it. Following each other’s taillights along the inky tree-lined highways to the house with the woodstove and the dog who smiles and the cat who stares.
We are here for eighteen hours, nine of them sleeping, the rest of them devoted to the MVA.
It is never enough time, and we will be back soon for longer visits. Until them, I am soaking up the yellow light pouring through leaves, autumn rounding itself out across the creek to my back. Alone in this house, admiring the odds and ends and ephemera of the ones to love.
Do not forget zee animals.