On my drive to Christopher’s house, a teen on a motor scooter pops wheelies in the bike lane. 5:00 traffic bumper-to-bumpers it toward destinations. The

Not the guy who knocked me up in high school. Nor the husband who stood on the balcony after our ceremony  looking as if he

1. From my window, I watch the birds. I watch tiny blossoms open on my Australian bottle brush tree, then frizzle into confetti and blow