It’s because I farted, Bryan says.
But it’s not and I shake my head annoyed. I feel safest in the summertime, and already I am biting blueberries in two and pushing the crushed halves into Ozzy’s open mouth. It has hardly rained all winter, though a few nights ago it did just a little. In the morning Zoey woke up and said she heard gumdrops falling on the roof while she slept, and when I laughed and told her it was actually rain, she looked at me as if I were the crazy one.
And maybe I am. For remembering the temperature of smell. For waiting on the ionic taste of pavement at night and how I want to wrap it around me like a towel.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXqPqbnPmWo60oqAsgoO9TxiBD05pHzJjwwwzV-ShxEr5KjdvEe4ZKxuKHKPS26aZtZLMavKm_BcUaNUtE8UE2bQtyjAOLwUnKXn8YP7FDwL8hnTD21H9iw3Plc6GyY9b446xvOEv-0eM/s400/summer.jpg)
2 comments:
these pictures of you as a baby??? too much for me to handle.
amazing. fo real.
Wow. I thought that maybe Ozzy looked like your husband. Now I see all the features that come from you. Great photo.
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