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She kept a tissue in the sleeve of her sweater in case something truly funny happened. You’ve got to love a person who leaves the house prepared to laugh.
Nothing needs to match in nature, and I find it totally counterintuitive the way my yard adjusts to death and welcomes whatever comes next. “Spring is always coming,” Phyllis says. “It never doesn’t come.”
As we approach the water, the moon casts a perfect stripe that ends at the dock. I stop to look, because it’s magic the way it lines up so perfectly. A one-in-a-million chance, sort of like a handsome man passing through my town on the exact day I take off my ring. It’s starting to feel like a champagne summer.
