Friday, August 1, 2025, 55.5*, 92% RH 0617
Bonum Mane. Augustus coepit. More Latin! Why not! Let’s play! Good morning. August has begun.
I remember days of playful language, words only understood by us, words we made up. The intimacy of living with him, the constant play, the lack of formality. My husband said from our first meeting that it was too easy, too comfortable. Why shouldn’t a relationship be like that? We walked on a rocky shore in the moonlight carrying on as if we’d known each other forever.
We met through a newspaper ad. I discovered it in his wallet after he died along with a list of my favorite Subway sandwich ingredients. He would stop there coming home from bowling. We'd eat after midnight. He brought me flowers from the field he’d stopped mowing to gather. In winter there were dried bouquets, pinecones. On the way home from a chemo treatment, he asked me to stop the car. I watched him disappear downhill, return with wildflowers like surreal daisies.
Now the sun comes to veil the pond, to highlight wet leaves, to join the clouds of morning. Only two spoke earlier (it wasn’t Latin): American Goldfinch and Red-eyed Vireo. Now, more wet leaves are revealed and, fingerprints on the window. I can see drops of rain on the fence railing invisible until sun allowed the vision.
Some things are ordained, like the veil of sun on water.
Photo: LJ Austin
