The past is the past. I am not fully my past, but yet the past works it's self into my present. I see my mother and my grandmother...

It always seems to happen when I am elbow-deep into a project, covered in cobwebs, tangled in the laundry, wrestling with dust, shaking...

Suddenly it is August and July slipped right into already over. July and August have been full of wishes fulfilled and heartbreaking...