Six sentences for Sunday, August 24:
Well, here we are, she tells him.
The boy tips his head back to look up at the house, to take the whole thing in at once: the weeds growing in amongst the loose bricks of the front steps, the thorny unbloomed arbor, the windows dark amidst faded clapboard siding, once blue, now grey.
He can be happy anywhere, she reminds herself. Children are adaptable. He won’t even notice.
In the tall pine tree, or somewhere nearby, a cardinal asks, then answers its own question: Bir-dy bir-dy bir-dy? Birdy birdy birdy bird!