During summer’s heat we hiked old logging trains and often saw no one doing the same. It was once a place where men dragged trees away for a far less beautiful fate than being snowed on in winter. Now, wide roads with faint imprints of slow moving trucks are the only evidence of trees once taken. We hike out of breath but in happiness. We pat the trees and congratulate them for their good posture, even the swaying ones.
We drove with our hearts on our sleeves and the car windows down. It was only our good luck that kept our vital organs from flying out the window and leaving us for dead.
The child wears a smile so enormous it seems borrowed from someone with a larger face.
Rebecca loved to read. After her death, I tired to honor her with the sound of flipping pages. I did this gesture dramatically, hoping that my noises would find her in the places she now hid. I wanted to tell her that the stories were still being read, even if hers was done being written.
I tried to read his small fortune. It was printed on a sliver of paper and looked fragile in the clutch of his fingertips - I hope the dreams we have make us great.
My eyes dropped, as did my heart, moments later when he read the words out loud to me - It is the hope and dreams we have that make us great.
I had rearranged and ignored words to make something sadder.
The sun’s rays fill her pores causing squinting eyes and a slight smile. The day’s warmth will only be fully realized later, as she stands in front of the bathroom mirror. She’ll count new freckles and arrange them into constellations the sky doesn’t have.
We sat on the hood of his car to watch the movie. The stars on the screen competed with the stars in the sky for our attention.
Only a few sounds manage to be simultaneously loud and soothing: the fan whose lifespan is the season of summer and my mother’s singing that echoes up the stairway and eradicates loneliness.
Sunday morning, we lay still under tangled sheets while a dog with a full bladder paces, the coffee starts brewing itself, a newspaper full of sad headlines waits outside; a reminder of the type of world we live in.
The sky is on fire - a terrifying statement that best described one of the prettiest sunsets I’d ever seen.