I sing the praises of my small charcoal grill that defines homecoming for my godsons Nelson and Will (and me) on their cross-country visits. No longer young apprentices, these now early twenty-somethings commandeer the operation. Nothing intervenes—snow, sleet, rain, nor my occasional (faint) reluctance. Our love renews as the corn turns.
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four-legged Luna / watches her namesake show off / best moon pie dog treat. The wind hints at rain so we see grandpa off and head for home, its windows “brazen in the setting sun.” pansy faces wink / as four Beatles sing their song / “I Want to Hold Your Hand”