There were clear beads of dew hanging motionless at the edges of the small, white flowers. My mom playing tour guide in the background, I stepped into the bathtub, secure in its wood and tile nest, and touched one drop of the dew, which turned out to be sap; nearly as thin as water, it had only the faintest feel against my finger as I reached out and left the flower scent against Kate’s neck, just below and behind her right ear.
My visit ran too short, as usual on my annual visits home. Visiting with my parents since leaving home for college has been an exercise in extremes — either we overstay one another’s welcome, their familiar sighs and shower hairs oddly grating in *my* apartment, or we understay, leaving just as the faint strains of a family’s machinery starting to move starts to come in.
Continue reading One day on the farm