Beams, Tile, & Other Things Like White

I can't say I've ever felt so deeply connected to beams of light, old hoses on mossy concrete, and grey wool as I did today. I spent the day post-church in my parents' back porch with them. It seems best remembered in sun-washed polariods. There was the time we all ate together sitting on the floor, and the time Mom slept next to me while I talked with Dad about many things, the time Mom rose and Dad brought us a jug of water, and the time Mom and I sat on the seat and Dad on the other. Discussed: dumpster diving, Hindu religion, work, God, how and why to get up in the morning, genealogy, education, my living in that room should housing be hidden in the fall, among other topics--be sure. For the duration of these hours, the screens permitted the breeze to brush us occasion, all the while sun enveloping our shoulders.

It was surely a happy mother's day, spent with the loveliest of mothers to exist.