It is a day of rest, reflection, absorption. I sit in a comfy chair in the living room with my feet upon the window sill, looking out. Will has completed the floor of the new deck, which is made of ipe, a beautiful sustainable wood that means the deck will outlast us by many, many years.
In the moment, there is no railing, so my feet and my eyes extend out into varying layers of green. I wish the deck could stand like this without a railing and I am aware it is probably not legal and certainly not safe, but in this moment, it is as though I live in a tree house, or perhaps it is more like living in a tree where the openings surround.
I continue to feel Mitchell close to me and I think death may be like this. The railings are taken away.
Einstein said "The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."
We live here with a need for railings to organize our minds, to keep us safe, and when someone we love dies, they lift us for a moment and dip us in a wider sea, with deeper blues and greens.