The tulips look tired, I notice last week as I walked to the ferry from my building. The petals faded and curled on the ground- only the black and yellow of the stamen and pistol remain at the tip of the tall, crude stems. I notice the trees are actually green. It's as if I didn't expect summer would actually come.
I walk down the pier to the ferry where we had pushed Audrey in her stroller last summer. I am just two months from where- when- you died and in returning to this place it is the same as when you return to a place as an adult that you had frequented as a child. Everything appears smaller- less magical. The way the presents under my Christmas tree did that one year all of the sudden. The way the kiddy train ride at the park near my house was when I took you there back while we were dating. I had remembered a dark, cavernous tunnel... but it was just a tiny kiddy train that went through one small fabricated tunnel and you laughed. It is like that now- here. Like a set or stage once the actors and actresses have gone.