two people, sitting on the bumpy cement steps on the front porch, understanding that the discomfort is somehow pleasurable. the mother sits on the top step, the daughter directly below her, wearing her nightgown at 3 in the afternoon. she is wiggling, as she always seems to be.
the mother is reading/skimming a book that she does not want to take on the plane with her during her journey back to her home the next day. she holds it just above her daughter's head, which smells of salt water from her parents' pool.
the daughter is holding her mother's iphone with all the dexterity that a seven year-old girl can, and plays various games while telling her mother that she isn't good at any of them, and it is so frustrating to her.
the mother rarely responds, other than a gentle, "uh huh."
the day is overcast and casually muggy, as if the weather couldn't quite decide on its look.
there is serenity to the scene, which is not an indication of what is happening inside each of their bodies. or maybe it is. maybe for just a few minutes the two of them were at peace with each other, with their geography, with their station in life.
there is calm, quiet, longing, determination; feasting on the end-of-summer air that feeds their lungs.
this is the snapshot, the photo, the still frame of the last day in massachusetts for a while.
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