The highbush blueberries are budding their puritan-white flowers.
I am walking in the pine flatwoods with my two sons and dog. My dog stops at a stream. In this light there are soft brown tannins in the shallows. She drinks the light oak and pine tea. My sons catch some unfortunate brown anoles and wonder if I will pay them for their difficult work. We poach swamp cabbage to sustain our walk.
At 31 I am still too young to know the final value of these moments,
but old enough to put them here, on ice, for future use.