"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? Its the too-huge world vaulting us, and its good bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."
It rained over the weekend, and we helped move both of my sisters out of town.
The first to her college dorm on Saturday. The second on Monday, to a small new town tucked up in the hills, husband and son in toe. We sat the baby on the floor as we unpacked boxes in the kitchen, carefully unwrapping blue glasses and white china plates. We tossed the newspaper on the floor in his direction as he chortled and laughed, punching the paper in the air with staccato precision: a five-month-old conductor to an orchestra of weary un-packers.