AFTERNOON ON A SUNNY SUMMER HOLIDAY
The breeze is ruffling the parasol—it’s making flapping sounds like the wings of some large captive bird. A delirious dance of wind and rippling fabric. The eges of the parasol are frayed; it’s almost always windy here and they’ve had several summers’ worth of windy workouts. The sun has heated the wooden boards of the deck to a degree that makes them unpleasant to walk barefoot on. The wood is bleached to a soothing gray and darker knotholes contrast with marching rows of shiny nailheads. Dandelions, grass and clover stretch illicit green fingers up between the planks. Karin just came...