There are balloons roaming the house, a tiny Georgie Pig figurine tied to one string, lending himself to lessons on high pressure systems, floating up and down and up again while March lends itself to looking for crocuses and reading poetry and hanging fresh drapes.
Birthdays are a lot like all the other days; we begin again, we do our best, we marvel at the sky and we maybe pine for that new spring blouse and also for more time on earth. We miss what we don't have and wonder about fifteen. Just like all the other days.
I listened to a podcast last week and learned a new word, lacuna. A missing part of text, an extended silence in a piece of music, a lexical gap in language, a small space. There's an uneasy sense when something feels like it's missing, but spring is on the way and the boys are usually smiling and and and.
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