Coffee steam, banjo, and a glance

Woke to the kitchen smelling like fresh coffee and a Joni Mitchell record rolling soft on the player — slow alto lines filling the porch like a warm ribbon. The banjo in the corner of the classroom hummed in my head; it might get plucked during recess if the fourth graders behave.

Four years ago Wyatt and I opened our marriage on a Saturday run, and that easy, steady decision still feels like home. Spotted a man today with calm, engineer hands who smiled at the principal like a neighbor; if you can talk to Wyatt and laugh at my banjo jokes, I’ll happily learn the bridge to whatever song you bring.