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May weather in Maryland means “70 something degrees and listening to the birds chirping through open windows wide open” kinda weather. At least that’s my expectation. Although my window is open now and the birds are intermittently chirping between wind gusts, it feels like March. Or November. Oooh, I think I just had a craving…
That afternoon was somehow suspended in a bubble in that gentle breeze. A bubble that refuses to pop as it glides about giggling at itself. Everywhere Fiona and I strolled, people were outside stealing that moment of unseasonably perfect August weather. The town’s senses was sharpened. It’s breath was held. Women had conversations on phones…
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