Morning comes too early and I pack the lunches and ready breakfast and then I slip out back with my coffee while forks clatter on plates to start the slow waking. It’s fifty-six degrees outside and fall hangs heavy from the trees, pressing down from above. I stand under a lidded sky when suddenly a single star. My head is full of a cold and of music from last night and I am thinking about friends who drink too much and the way my boy looked marching out on the football field with that snare hanging down in front of him.
And what do you do when someone who used to love you—whose children you’ve loved and held and prayed for—deliberately keeps a secret just to hurt you?
The beauty of the meadow dawns with all her yellow and purple ironweed and a flock of birds inks out the emerging light above.