Pair of flies, fucking on the kitchen counter. Instant Liebestod. It reminded me of the time two were doing it on my sleeping baby’s face. Life has no shame.
We cleaned out the kitchen bench. We hadn’t really used it much since the lid, which swings up to reveal storage space, swung down and chopped off the tip of our then-one-year-old-daughter’s thumb. The tip was nicely reattached, I couldn’t tell you now which one it was, but you know. Much screaming.
And the bench, it turns out, had been this time capsule right there in our kitchen all this time. We found pictures. The wee one in a sink. In a dish atop the washing machine. Were you ever that small? Look how small you were!
In the backyard, swinging. Gee, haven’t we had that swingset a long time. Five years, these pictures are five years old. Look how the plants have grown up. You could see the neighbor’s house back then, I totally forgot. The apple tree: then a mere sapling. Now, a gigantic broom in bad need of a thorough pruning. And so on, an explosion of green. An ongoing explosion, this life.