Too warm for a February morning.

I hope I won’t smell like breakfast sausage.

He’s the only one who still says “I love you, too,” when he gets out of the car.

A little gift in the morning.

A sigh of relief.

The meeting turns to lunch which was what we really needed. And now I have dinner for the bus ride back.

She was tardy, which means she can’t play.

Almost, almost.

It takes until the very last game when she was the very last one waiting to be picked up, that she musters up enough confidence to say more than three words to us. “I almost cried when you gave me the medal, but I didn’t.”

We walk back to our cars. I look up at the dark sky and marvel at the stars. It n never gets old.