ππππ ππππππ’ πππππππ ππ: @confuseddemolitionist it's A Cabin For Summer Vacation. It's A Night For Fireworks. Early Enough In The Evening That You Can't Hear Your Own Words, Only That You're Holding A Smaller Pair Of Hands In Your Own As You Teach Someone How To Correctly Light A String Of Firecrackers. kid's Still Short Enough That You Only See The Head Of Hair And The Hands. He's Seven. You Can't Hear What You're Saying. You Don't Hear What He's Saying Back. You Watch The Firecrackers Go Off From A Safe Distance, In The Sprawling Backyard Somewhere Upstate, Behind The Cabin. Close To The Pond. It's Rained Recently. This Private Light Show Won't Start A Wildfire. the Cicadas Are Drowned Out By The Noise, The Conversation Lost To Time, And To The Shifting Of The Shadows Cast By The Red And White Bursts Of Light Strobing In The Green Lawn Like Violent Fireflies. You Have Ten Fingers. The Boy Is Seven, And He Isn't Your's By Blood, But That Never Mattered One Single Bit. it All Smells Of Magnesium And Sulfur And Smoke. One Day You'll Teach Him How To Make One Of The Big Rockets, But He's Only Seven. he's Just A Kid, And There's Time. there's Time. there's Time. #queserasera but How Much Time Truly? πΌπππππ’ πππ https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1faipqlsekfh6j2vgskoqsezds9n0t5tnb8gtkihiapootjcd9yp3hmw/viewform?usp=header