A chilly morning followed by a wonderful, lazy day. The lupine buds are turning purple from the bottom up.


In what I hope one day will be the only patch of grass in our yard I set up a badminton net. The way we play, it’s a perfect after-dinner game. We don’t keep score. We don’t serve properly. We don’t observe boundaries.

Sometimes one volley can become intensely competitive – worth running for the birdie, at least. But as soon as the volley’s done, it’s over. The next one may be a series of slow, high lobs, or a goofy attempt at badminton ballet, or an attempt to hit the birdie as softly as possible and still get it over the net.

We laugh, we talk, we twirl our racquets. We take breaks to rub a cat in the grass, or watch a dragonfly. Or we just listen, to the spring of the strings and the whish
of the birdie as it bounces between our racquets.