Our recent East Coast blizzard, through the eyes of our little one.
After this year's Boston Marathon, a picture circulated on Twitter of a woman who completed the race while 34 weeks pregnant.
I sometimes confuse the soft, spritzing sounds of sprinklers and cicadas. As the seasons transition, this one confusion gives way to another, that of rustling leaves and rushing freeways. Everything quickens.
Wednesday mornings, on the cement sidewalk near Judiciary Square, across from the Clean and Sober Streets shelter, we toe last night’s cigarette butts and burger wrappers with our neon running shoes and place a hand around the shoulders of each tech-fabric shirt. “Hey, how’re you doin’?”