So dark.

He thinks the kids are awake; I tell him it’s the owl. They are always so loud in the morning.

He is always the first one ready to go.

I want something different next time. But I don’t know what that looks like yet.

Nothing to make but creamed chard and baked potatoes to go with the prime rib. Barolo tonight?

I just really hope it works.

The sound of the rain. It has a different tone up here in the woods; softer, maybe.

I sit on the floor and build a forgotten Lego set from someone’s birthday last year.

That feeling that time is running out.

Someone in the neighborhood has their fireplace going and it smells sweet, like ham.