The deck, the morning after our Father’s Day celebration. Here’s the fish griller that Claire used to cook the salmon.The new hanging plant I bought over the weekend, its purple blossoms cascading over the rim. There’s a half moon of package sealing that came off when I opened the tub of deer repellent to sprinkle on the flower bed.

The white bucket in the back yard holds the pétanque balls we used to play a few rounds of that game before dinner. Appolinaire was the champ, despite the fact that he’d only heard of pétanque minutes before we played. Maybe French-speaking folks just naturally excel.

Scattered around are the big sticks Claire’s dog Reese picked up and dropped. Copper sniffs them, wary still. This time last year we had just met Reese, a small ball of fluff. Now he’s a 100-pound “baby.”

Further back into the yard, the new picket fence panels gleam. One day they’ll be as weathered as the ones they replace.

Thinking about loss, about fullness.  That from this home, this yard, three little souls were launched into the world.