This weekend was spent with friends and family celebrating Tom, a man who has most certainly only gotten better with age. We picked crabs and held babies. Blew out candles and spent time dreaming, scheming and planning. Saturday night's party stretched well into Sunday's afternoon. The air changed, and the new season whispered across our skin as we sat on blankets circling around the same things we always speak of.
I thought back to thirteen years ago, when the boy in my creative writing class asked me who I like liked, a few days shy of his twenty-first birthday. I thought of that same boy's birthday four years later, as we waged a pirate themed war in kayaks and rowboats. And then to the night he turned thirty while we wandered the streets of Baltimore with a a band of merry makers in search of good music and strong drinks. I like getting to stop and appreciate him on those days of the year that call for it. To consider who he was. Who he is. Who he will be.