My son lives in Uganda. I live in Maine.
My son lives among wild beasts. I live among libraries, shops, and churches.
My son’s life is filled with soaring birds of a million colors. Starlings and robins dress my backyard.
At night, my son dances around a blazing fire with painted natives. I serenely bring my covered dishes to potluck suppers as the dusk falls.
We reach out across this uncrossable ocean by phone or mail, equally baffled by each other’s choices.
We never stop reaching out.
But his city life excites, like Uganda; my suburban life soothes just like Maine.