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Sending Me Pictures

My brother is sending me pictures.

He’s sending me pictures of matriarchs sitting on a porch talking intently as the setting sun lights up their faces. And he’s sending me pictures of sons and daughters. And of sunlight glistening on the water just beyond the dock. He’s sending me these, you see, because he knows I miss it.

But what he doesn’t know is that I got to play with tape and scissors and bulletin board paper this afternoon. After the training sessions were over and the school was quiet, I got to play with paper and scissors and tape.

That and the pictures are a kind of meditation — a way to summon a modicum of head-in-the-sand calm. Because boy—howdy, there is a big storm coming.