Within the last few days, the days began lasting fifteen hours.
During this season.
From 6:30 to 9:30, the sun is so loud; all day, banging on drums in the garage.
And, perhaps, whomever said howling is the lowest form of magic was not doing it dexterously.
“If I have a daughter I will name her Persephone,” she told me.
“I’ll call her Effie,” I grin, referring to an inside joke.
“I hoped that’s what you would say.”
“What if it’s a boy?”
“I don’t choose.”
Sisters sharing hushed giggles.