Friday, March 11, 2011
This evening, my own son takes the long bus ride home; we will have him near for ten days. I try to clear my desk of the work that is here (even as more floats in). I plan for his nearness, his stories, his laugh. Never enough time—never. But this time, at least.
And this is luck, I think—my son, these kids, this life. And this is me living my luck best as I can.