I was walking on the trail with the horses and crying because these big kids, they have places to go and things to see. And I've seen them every day since they came out of me. It's probably good that they can feed themselves and they're fairly kind to others, and they're good looking and smart and it's a good nest here for them to fly out of. Nests are mostly made of twigs and dirt and poop. It's a good nest.
We're lucky that our house has their voices in it, and that it's a peaceful, joyful, curious, messy place. It's an ocean of us all, washed up in the kitchen tonight playing Blokus after watching the neighbors rehearse Edgar Allen Poe in the driveway next door. Every turn has something different around it, all the paths are lit up, at the end of the day, we trudge back inside but it's never quite over. Warm bed, water, pajamas, family.
I didn't get here by myself. I've had a lot of poetry, and a lot of pizza. This makes it all possible.
