I was practically leaping in excitement to show him the oft-sung medieval bridge of Avignon, and we took off at a run.
All tagged fall
I was practically leaping in excitement to show him the oft-sung medieval bridge of Avignon, and we took off at a run.
My seven-year-old and I arrive at our traditional pumpkin patch. She picks out a huge, tall monstrosity.
I climb aboard the giant orange pillow, socks sliding on the rubber, and find my spot in the jostling hordes.
The leash suddenly went taut as Louis spotted the dead squirrel and took it in his mouth.
I had been sitting at the front of the school bus when it happened.
I was sitting in the car when the phone rang. The caller I.D. made me pick up.
I race towards home, holding up the watercolour I painted at school.
He says it never happened. The airport, his arms dangling me over the railing.
Spiralling, up, up, my anxiety levels. Sweat, hot, dances down my back.
A boy dressed as a robot is sitting next to a fairy.
“Jill! Come over here!” My heart went dizzy, for I was never invited by my sister to come over here, or anywhere.
It was a long walk to the coast, but it would be my last chance.
Not far from Edgcumbe Road, where pines offer their shade and scent, I meet a craggy snowbank that a homeowner failed to shovel early, when it was soft and new.
The boys bound ahead down the steep path, and the dog pulls at her leash. My footing, accustomed to sidewalks, remains unsure.