Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Thirty-Five
Not ready.
Thank goodness it’s Monday.
He’s still sleeping. I hand them all plates of blueberry cake and give the big one a glass of orange juice, too. I walk on the wet asphalt with my slippers and throw my purse into the back seat.
He warns me that it’s decaf. I tell him I know.
What do you do with the kids who have the capacity but not the initiative? No answer.
Crossing things off.
I’m going to be late. I can’t let myself be too upset about it now.
I just need to trust my gut.
They are saying things, but I’m distracted by the thick streaks of pink-orange clouds bursting through the sky. “It’s just carbon,” he says. “I know. But it’s still beautiful.”
Funny, yet sad.
