We’ve had a summer of grown children. Grandchildren, not so many this year. They have jobs, they’re obligated. They all assure us they’ll be back next summer, they miss the lake, they miss us. They mean it, but they’re setting up their lives, starting new jobs, coaching in summer field hockey camp.

So this poem by Olivia Stiffler appealed to me. I’m feeling the shift especially this year, the “move to the back seat,” as she puts it. It’s a simple poem that travels naturally from leaving to coming back in a different way, barely back, focused on the future.

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