Practicing to Walk Like a Heron

My Wife Has Sent Me an Email

67 My Wife Has Sent Me an Email My wife has sent me an email. She asks if we have enough coffee for the weekend. She adds, “I love you.” I hit reply and type, “Yes, we have plenty, two bags of French Roast in fact. We’ll be fine.” I add, “I love you, too” and hit send. I am sitting in our living room, laptop on my lap. She is sitting in her office upstairs. We are emailing in our own home. We have lived here for thirty-five years. Outside my window, in the garden, outside hers, in a window box, June’s early rise of zinnias and salvia lifts to bloom amid the dusty miller. It is raining, the rain dousing the cosmos and cleome as it falls from the roof. She emails, “You should see this rain from up here.” I email, “You should see the rain 68 from down here.” Yesterday after a nice lunch together I got up and went to the garage and sorted through the shelves not knowing what I was looking for. After lunch today, I’m going to find the trowel my father used. I’ll get a rag and some rust remover and bring it back. ...