woven through the white wood of the arch in a way that had probably been beautiful on Saturday and was now only evidence.
The lawn.
The grass had been torn in strips where tables had been dragged, deep gouges of furniture hauled across wet soil, compressed paths of hundreds of feet dancing through the night. The fire pit, which I had never used because I was always afraid of embers near the garden, had been used and left dirty, the ashes cold and blown by the wind.
The house.
I
