weekend worked away

The weekend feels long over now, but somehow still feels here, probably because my house is littered with half-finished projects that just didn't fit into weekend work time, as it slowly, quietly slipped away. It was one of those weekends, hectic and busy and full, with weeds to pull and plants to water and dressers and tables to sand for painting prep; clothes to be sorted, clothes to be folded, clothes to be boxed, clothes to be bought, and there were birthday parties for friends and birthday parties for families, and cool mornings in the yard watching the garden and hot afternoons on the porch with the late breakfast that Paul had made, watching the cat lazily eye a stray leaf, wondering if the play was worth the effort of exerting herself (it wasn't). And all the while the door was open and we came and we went -- yard, sprinkler, kitchen, tea -- and one curled up with a book up under the tree, near the sky, and one danced with her babies dolls and rejoiced in the sun. It was one of those weekends that makes me glad we are here, here; here in this house, here together, here where we wake up together in a house cool, like night remaining; here where our earth bakes hard in the sun, when there was the first red tomato, and raspberries just turning past pink.

A.