|| A Confession. ||

::They sold the house years ago. It might not even be there anymore. But, in my mind, I still feel like I could go back. Slip through the rusting back gate, lifting the old rope that held it closed, between the bushes, up the back steps to find the screen door unlocked.

Cold lemonade in a glass picture in the fridge. Dandy yellow tablecloth. The curtains red and orange, handmade, glowing with summer light. 1/