beautiful august.

a symphony, these august days of us -- thick tomatoes on good bread with pepper and mayonnaise. the zipper-sounds of my husband packing and unpacking. peter pan collars. fistfuls of buttery croissant nibbled by the water lilies in the conservatory garden. small, dimpled hands ever reaching for mine. plumb, rosebud lips ever reaching for mine. baking madeleines on misting, grey days. illness between these walls for weeks, and nursing every hour since june. here is a boy who greets flowers with a kiss. he hears a jingle of keys in the hall and sings papa. a weekend at gaga and papi's -- golf cart rides and grilled suppers and so. many. roses. out of my own perfume and so wearing his oud and bergamot. watching fleabag after baby has fallen asleep, passing a carton of mint chip between us. afternoon strolls when the heat has softened -- a salted cold foam coffee for mama, and it's off to the playground we go. how capable i feel the weeks chris is away -- how much like a mom. hours uncountable spent just exactly this way: chopping basil and pressing lemons and garlic to baby-babble-poetry and lana del rey, red wine, salty cheese to nibble, baby wants a bite, barefoot atop rosy kitchen tiles, theirs, each other's, joy quiet and full and ocean-deep. deeper.

nights, we fall asleep together whispering. can you even believe him? (magic.) where did he come from? (heaven.) and i know that this is everything. right here, under this roof, the whole of all. anything more we could ever possibly be blessed with is utter abundance. like another miracle when you've already been given one. like a garden when all you ever wanted was a single rose. like another voice in the chorus. like more heaven.