Last night I went down to the pool, in twilight. No: past twilight. I walked down the wooden path, passing the huge hydrangeas in various colours, like ladies in gowns at Versailles. The moon was a giant golden crescent, positioned exactly centre above the pool, which was empty. I dove into water warmer than the languid air.
These images, these sacred memories, are impossible to capture, let alone describe. I can't post about fashion, apart to say that of the assortment of relatives gathered for my mom's birthday extravaganza week, the majority wore shades of aqua and blue. My cousin Adam's wife Anne helped the children make bracelets, to give as gifts.
There was cake.