“Mom! I need you.”

Over night has been rainy, but it’s now dry enough to sit on the pathway in my neighborhood. It’s chilly for August. I’m in long sleeves.


My daughter just called me, but I think she got distracted. We went on a search for mud this morning; my headache demands an outing with little exertion.e

Now she’s sitting under a tree, digging. She’s wearing a new dress we got yesterday that is, miraculously, not really getting dirty. What a good play dress.

There’s a horse farm across the street, but they have corn growing this year, too. When I look up over the fields, the broad leafed trees behind them and a mist settling on them, I always get lost in imagining flying over them or being surrounded by them. Like that bird calling right now.

It has been 23 years since the accident. 23 years, today. What a 23 years.

Now she wants me to shake bush limbs over her head to pretend it’s raining on her. Those grey clouds tell me real rain is coming again.

The Morning it Started

His booted feet covered the dew-covered grass of the empty field until he reached the well-worn wooden bridge. The creek below was slightly swollen and the thick air around him hung low, promising  to entrap anything in its grasp. The smell of mud was strong around him, but the white gravel on the main road protected him from sinking too deep into it.

He continued off the main pebble-covered path to another bridge, this one covered by vines from nearby trees and adorned with plaid red and blue ribbons and bells. Here in the glen the trees were thicker, but so was the mud.

Continue reading “The Morning it Started”