May 31, 2024:

Soccer balls in the riverbed.

Star forward with hands on hips, contemplating.

"Are you going to go get those?" Says the coach, impatiently.

I wouldn't.

May 30, 2024:

Bodies buried at sea.

Consumed by fish and bacteria, returned to the beginning, added again to the life of the Earth.

Bodies buried in space.

Never reclaimed, always immobile, never returning to the wheel of the world.

May 29, 2024:

She loved walnuts.

She'd spend whole evenings, planted in her chair, cat in her lap, television on, cracking walnuts, discarding shells in a bowl, washing the meat down with cups of sugar over which she poured a few spare drops of Lipton's tea.

I thought, This'll be me, one day.

Today I almost wish it were.