fragile {the days are long}

the days are long.
chickens peck 'til almost nine, and i put babes to bed
before the sun.

my eyes, light-starved from dreary winter-spring,
soak in summer hungrily.  something about wild green grass feels
holy:  we take off shoes (and track mud across the kitchen).
irises bloom, seedlings grow, children dig.
i sip my coffee on the porch.

but the days are long.  camp life whirs frenetic as
regular life slows to a crawl.  the periphery is always
an awkward perch.  some days
i want to kick something. i want to punch it real hard.

i'd settle for a lock on the bathroom door.

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