Today marks the first day of Chicago Bike to Work Week, if you're local and interested in participating.
"Jess, you have to let me lead."
"But, I am . . . right?"
I was laughing so hard at our sloppiness, my head buried in Sam's shoulder, that I couldn't dance for long anyway. We walked the mile or two back into the woods, to sleep under the still-bare branches and all of those stars. But first I settled up on the picnic table, lying out in the cold, body upturned toward all of those stars.
I wonder what this summer will mean to me in ten years. It already means so much to me now.
Scenes from Sunday morning:
1/ Early morning espresso—we use this—with the newspaper
2/ Candles, records, and reflected light on the mantle
3/ Garden scheming without the landlord's permission
4/ Sweet potatoes which I don't have the heart to tame (or throw out)
5/ Baked eggs with spinach and goat cheese before a run in the park
It's late, and I have so much dirt under my fingernails—a sign of a day well spent.
Goodbye to this view. I'm not a child; I just loved that tree.