Sunday, August 2, 2020

We sit in the shade of the pine trees at the park and watch the little kids practice baseball.  The coach yells and yells. We sit at a distance from each other and talk.

My friend works in the garden for four hours and now it is alive and healthy.

I haven’t finished Mary Trump’s book about the president.  I know the ending and I don’t like it.

For weeks the New Yorkers pile up unread by my chair. And yesterday I pick up the current issue and am ready to read again.