Two months begin of near-infinite daylight straddling the summer solstice.
I unpack my car into drawers and bins. I could be here awhile.
My father brings me to his auto mechanic for a look at my ailing Toyota. My kind parents take care of their returning son. They treat me more as twenty years old than forty, but that is their prerogative.
I dwell on health and quiet. I run for an hour through Wellesley College and into suburbs that seemed so far away when I was a child. I exhaust myself and sleep by ten.
I resume meditation and will eventually row on the basement rowing machine. My back suffers from so much driving. I try to let everything go. Life has shrunk to this house and these parents.
I cook tonight for my family. I set a menu that balances the conventional with unusual: grilled steak with Argentine chimichurri sauce. Life here will likewise be a balance between the conventional and the unusual. I’ll poke at growing edges.