Yes, that’s how I write dates. Always have. I just think it’s prettier with the numbers on either side.
“Periods of rain,” is the forecast. Up to a quarter of an inch. I cannot convey how ridiculously exciting this is. Hearing intermittent drips is like listening to joy fall slowly from the trees.
At the beginning of last month I bought a small mum plant. I put it in a black plastic cauldron my son used for trick-or-treating one year. He was on crutches (for real), and he told everyone he was Sirius Black, just escaped from Azkaban.
There are not enough Harry Potter fans in our neighborhood.
So at the moment, that cauldron with the yellow flowers is sitting by my son’s basketball hoop, the one whose backboard got busted out this spring with baseball-sized hail. The flowers don’t know that, of course. They just know their cauldron is filling up, drop by drop.