J U L Y  6

The Sunday rain falls, heavy and sweet on the grass, rinsing the birch leaves clean and ruffling the lake into tiny  waves.                                       Anthony snuck into our bed early this morning, and the thin, precious weight of him rests against my legs. Two years old, he has become aware of fear, named and unnamed. He wonders if a moose could climb our stairs. No, my love. The moose have their home as we have ours. Sleep soft and deep, my  little son.