Rough night of sleep. Lately, every dream feels like a premonition or a memory. What is and isn’t real?

Game day. Again.

Cool morning. Craving coffee, or at least something warm. Settle for hot lemon water. Bah of the goats.

So many more people in masks down here.

But, this is what I mean.

Hit came too late. But, oh well. At least there was a hit. That’s all that matters today.

I tell him that I’d like for him to be home tonight. He was out last night; he should have dinner with us.

Grandfather tells us a story that makes the teenager laugh. It’s a story I’ve never heard before.

The littlest one come back downstairs. “You’ve been talking for two hours,” he says to the three of us. Exactly. Exactly why I wanted him home today.

Perfect? No. But good enough? Yes.