Remember those long summer days we spent outside? Your father engrossed with picking ripened fruit, checking rows of vegetables he'd sown. And you, as small children, serious and urgent in your play: how you'd gather fallen apples, observe ants, construct homes for caterpillars. Under a shady tree your grandmother rests. I can see you now as you skip to her with offerings of daisies. You watch as she blows a dandelion head; a trail of silver scatters in sunlight.
their empty rooms
our too large house