Vivian

Sunrise over a tiny model of any city

Street View, parked in a city that doesn't exist

The hug across time: you now, holding the kid you were

Treading water beside a whale's eye, being seen back

The family gossip session, photographed like a world summit

Your flowers, rebuilt petal by petal under glass

The departures board of everything I said I'd do

The vintage suitcase your travels earned

Your neighborhood map, rebuilt as a tiny 3D city

Your neighbourhood, mapped like a fantasy novel's endpapers

Your photo at the ruins, retaken the day it was new

The photo you took through a window, without the window

The two of you at eighty, standing exactly how you always stand

Photograph the suitcase before you kneel on it to close it

Photograph your street, see it a hundred years ago

A month somewhere, not a week everywhere

Name the town, the month, and what you do most days at home. You get a month built on becoming a regular, not on sightseeing.

Pack from the forecast, not from fear

Say where you're going, how many days, and the forecast. You get a list built from the weather down, plus the things to leave at home.

Drink the good bottles: what to open, what to keep

Paste your bottles and roughly how they've been stored. Back comes what's peaking, what will hold, and the one to open on a random Tuesday.