Your pancakes, fresh off the Coleman, warming my fingers before the sun had the chance
Soft whoops of joy while gliding through knee-deep pow in the Baker backcountry
The smell of fresh wood chips at your wedding
I remember watching you and Diana laugh so hard tears were rolling down your cheeks, she was always so happy when you were around
Eating salt straight from the shaker, you are the only person who has ever done this with me, perhaps the only who ever will
Getting drunk while taking turns scraping linoleum tiles off your kitchen floor
Barreling through the night in the orange suburban, the air infused with the smell of wet dogs and dusty gear, tired and happy after a spring run to Smith
Your coffee, I’ll always remember your coffee
I love you Lara and am grateful for the part of me you have helped create
Tim Hammer
