I look up from the pressed-wood desk and rub my ice-blue eyes. A blue pen lays slantwise across an electric yellow pad. The client exhales, forcing hot breath across the small space between us. “The fair comes to town in the fall,” I say.  The words fall like snow.   “Do you mean there is…

An odd February afternoon my two boys loll about The church playground with dirty knees, shouting haphazard praises. I relax into a weathered bench. They are three-and-a-half, and one  And-a-half; at this age halves matter. “Look, Mom!” Jay spirals Downward, sliding round. Will spins the wheel, captaining a great ship. We feel the air only…