Fiction | August 02, 2016

Today, if I didn’t have to stay so alert for the children, I’d like to do absolutely nothing but dream into this whole back-of-the-houses space where yard touches yard touches yard—seven in all, pooled within the elliptical loop of Frederick Street—property lines trespassed by wonderful, well-established trees and blithe legions of birds and squirrels and all the houses revealing to each other their less pretentious sides. The general impression is of appealing honesty, even vulnerability, watched over by our communal canopy of trees. Aside from the children’s games, nothing much is happening here this afternoon, yet everything seems animated with endless vibrant packets of fall light coming and going. Like that, I see how easily I too could dissolve.

This story is not currently available online.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.