December 13. Walking to school. In the dark. Ten minutes through the woods and to the house where I pick up my son. Stopped at the sledding hill and wondered if I’ll be standing there again when I’m eighty. Whether my frailty, if I’m still alive then, will allow it, and how I’ll see this slope then, when my son is forty. What will be inconsequential and what will be strange. My son comes out of the house and we walk the twenty minutes to school. Discuss airplanes. I don’t realize yet that I can go as far as the entrance of the schoolyard, but no further. When we say goodbye, his mind is already elsewhere. I take an Uber back to pick up my things, then to the airport.