The other morning, I woke to speak with a man I’d never met. After 13 minutes of failed Google+ attempts, we got through. It was just after 5am and pitch black outside the window above the desk. I curled my legs underneath me as we smiled with relief. Conversations with strangers are so touching and intimate …
…the quiet of stealing hours from the night …of the early morning hours, when you wake, before sun, before sound …pierced only by the click-clack of keys that, for now, are typing the most dreadful first draft …of what might, one day, be a book…with a binding…that bears your name …the silent stir of your …
Thirty-five is the rhythm of everyday life. It’s seeing someone and thinking, I knew you well once. It’s knowing where you are happiest—but how to cope when you can’t be there. Thirty-five is realizing you’ve lived twice as long as the counselors caring for your kids at camp. It’s getting dizzy on the roller coasters …
I’ll spend much of this summer at my alma mater overnight camp with my three sons. I’ll work in the front office while the boys enjoy programming designed for staff kids. Each day, we’ll step outside to the dewy chill of early morning air. Come nightfall, we’ll huddle under fleece blankets in a modest bunk–two rooms …
The garage door lifted against the night. 4am may be morning, but all pitch black and silence, you wouldn’t know it. The car beep startled me awake as I slid into the driver seat, coffee clutched, and set out for Pittsburgh. Minutes before, I’d fingered the wisps of hair that fell across my baby’s forehead. …
Dina L. Relles 