Tonight

I turn off the squirrels in the attic by turning on the fan.

I walk along the tidal basin and take pictures of teddy bears half-submerged in water, cloaked in flowers.

I watch children shake blossoms from trees and wonder why no one is as good of a parent as I am.

I reflect on the fact that my kids never do anything wrong. I don't reflect on the fact that their current non-existent status makes it easier.

I stand in front of the tidal basin in a picture with my wife; the long branch of a cherry tree and its blossoms framing the Jefferson Memorial in the background. "I bet we're the only one's to think of this," I say. Thank god for that water logged teddy bear.

I argue with my wife about whether to pull out plants.
I learn what azaleas and rhododendrons look like.
I buy annuals and plant them without gloves. I dig holes in the soft clay with my hands. I lament the lack of a trowel.

I look down at the geraniums and pansies planted in the side yard and wonder if their presence constitutes a good day of work.

I resolve to only mention how nice the weather is on four occasions each day.

I sit in front of the space heater in my basement, which has taken it upon itself to remain at igloo like temperatures.

I watch basketball in the middle of the night. I miss coaching. I miss a lot of things.

I walk the grassy fields of Au's campus in the middle of the day, reflect on all the youth around me. It is a good thing to be that young, to still believe that so much lies ahead of you.

I go to sleep missing a lot of things.