Playground, Livingston and Western. When Alex was so tiny I couldn't picture the young man who was his destiny, I'd stroll him here, thirty minutes maybe from our home. Now it's ten from the Six Month House, and I am with Katherine, seeing so much girl in her, the littleness of both children long departed. These bodies they live in now I am always learning to know too late. Time is motion.
Clouds scud, approaching cold front. The wind is unrelenting in the bare trees, but here we are on swings and monkey bars, running games. The sun so low that for a moment the sky holds fire. We stop, I take this picture, and then homeward into night, running all the way.
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