It’s nice to look out at water even when it’s raining and the rain keeps you from going outside to get a closer look.
It’s nice to be in a house that isn’t your’s for a week long vacation where the clutter and the closets aren’t overflowing with your stuff. The countertops are clean and the kitchen table is a novelty round one and the picture windows look out on water and you finally get time to breathe.
It’s nice to sit down and play a long board game at the round kitchen table with your teenage sons and husband talking trade wars and new worlds and who’s building steam engines so you can build a three token ship.
And it’s nice coming home again and it’s nice being here again and I’ll cry when it’s time and then I may just cry some more. One driver’s ed course, one week up at camp, one garden needing tending, a gutted basement laying in wait. A garage filled with boxes, two cars that need washing, a calendar calls my attention, five more songs yet to write.
There’s stuff I wish to tell you, but I fear it’s all a jumble, my mom’s birthday is tomorrow and I’m not there to wish her well. There’s stuff I want to tell you, but what’s the point in talking when talking never gets us more than blank stares?
She’s the one who gets emotional. She’s the one who exagerates. She’s the one who just needs to paint with words til she gets a silhouette something she can name. She’s the one with a touch of drama, don’t mind her hyperbolic handling of the moment, she thinks it’s nice to look out on water, she hates to admit when she’s afraid.