Dog days of writing

Somehow I forgot how tough it is to write when the kids are out of school and what’s left of the long spring grass beckons from the hills.
I like seeing my fourteen year old son and his friends, somewhere between not liking girls and having a girlfriend, sit in a circle joking on the trampoline oblivious as the girls they’ve invited over, eyes covered in makeup, walk past to get their attention. One day soon, maybe even by the end of summer, the boys will break from their circle to follow, but not yet.
It’s early — only the cat, dog and I are awake — but already so warm that I’ve drawn all the shades. The dog pushes her face into my thigh to get me moving. The sun is rising and soon, the heat of the day will move us indoors. But for now, the tall green grass awaits.

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