so many of them—filing across our living room, past the little potbellied stove, padding upstairs to our son’s bedroom, going to take care of the one who saw them, because you’re not supposed to see them, no one sees them; you look away, you ignore them—everyone knows you ignore them; as long as you don’t see them, everything is okay; as long as you don’t notice them, you’re lucky. You’re blessed.
