I’m never sure when it ends, I just know when it resumes. Loud, deafening sometimes. Heavy air vibrates. Is it like this during the day but drowned out by us?
Don’t know what they are, but they’re surely communicating. Animal, aviary, or amphibious? Hard to differentiate.
The nightlife stays up until dawn when another shift takes over. I hear ducks.
Cutting and slicing with two white porcelain knives. Black handles spattered with orange mangos and yellow pineapples. Cutting board stained red from the strawberry bumper crop. Stackable trays stained green from thirty-three cent kiwis.
Sunshine through the window on cheery yellow walls. Music turns the corner and fills the kitchen with John Denver. A pleasant way to pass the afternoon.
Lives, communities, conveniences, routines, vistas, jobs, relationships. Patterns. An intricate body of Christ here with complicated bonds. God is love. God is relational.
Breaking old chemical bonds and creating new ones; chemical reactions. Unusual pharmacokinetics, this bitter pill of grief.
Awkward meet-and-greets, interviews for all sorts of relationships. You begin to put your keys in the same place every time.
Hot tears come in an unwelcome cascade. He looks sad. Another last hug, kiss, and I love you before he walks out the door. I wave but he can’t see through the reflective glass.
I slump into the wall feeling betrayed by myself. Bronze busts and face shots of uniformed men smile from their trophy cases. We’re a proud unit.
