June 3, 2015:

What the images fail to capture are the legions of middle-aged dads insisting venomously to their exhausted five-year-olds, "You're ruining it for everyone, not just yourself."


June 2, 2015:

I wonder who else you've brought to this place?

Mine originally. I brought you here, introduced it to you.

Ours together after that.

For a time, as I suppose is true of every other thing.

How many times have you been here since? On your own, or with your sister, or with lovers it was your turn to impress?

Did you think of me then? Is this always my place, for you?

Or do you own it now yourself, just as much as I ever did?


June 1, 2015:

Staff in carts: laundry, gardening tools, baggage. Zipping down the walkways, around the parking lots, silently and largely in the way.

Guests: mostly insular, seldom smiling, frequently frowning or looking away. Grumpy adults: the kids are taxing. Feral kids: running, ecstatic to be away from home, exploring, adventurers, scouts, exactly the role they're biologically adapted to after millennia of evolution.

Your author: somewhat aggrieved by the bother, thinking in hindsight a more isolated room would have been better. Thinking about home, this one and the real one. Thinking about true love, and loss and regret. Missing his baby girl more than words can say.