I walked across the street yesterday to see the piles of rubble where a cluster of abandoned buildings recently stood. There was something oddly beautiful in all the heaps of like-materials. They reminded me of conversations.
Next I went to camp. Instead of teaching 300 13-year-old boys how to make hemp bracelets, I led a game where you have to chase each other, blindfolded, wielding pool noodles as swords.
The next few days were spent at Mel's cottage for a serious reunion. We all turned into 13-year-old girls again, possessed by the sun, delicious food, the Les Miserables soundtrack, french braids, late night gossiping, and falling asleep in a pile. I have the most beautiful friends in the whole world. It's true.