brunch is the word
The biscuits were baking, the jam cooling, and the bacon sputtering yesterday morning, for brunch (not Grease, though the bacon rendered plenty) was the word—brunch was the time, was the place, was the motion; brunch was the way we were feeling.
A small group of the leading lights in digital innovation filled the magic cottage with laughter (Andrew was concerned not to find Shaq’s rap album in Pandora) and music, as the guitar was passed from David to Chris and back to George:
The cottage swelled with the energy of these wonderful experimenters, and then they were off to the airport to other coasts and colder climes—
I think I am happiest entertaining when I run out of glassware and silverware, and I spent the afternoon outside the cottage, thinking about possibilities,
how they uncoil in a multiplicity of loopy strands;
watching light glance off leaves,
I reflected that life subtly darts everywhere,
and that I must remember to look up, peer closer, watch for potential motion.
Facing the leaves, shadows layer in patterns;
from where the leaf faces, the future is blurry and sparkling…