It happened again this morning.
At the vet with our ten year old dog, time for his annual check up. When the doctor came in, my mind stumbled. That’s not the one.
Then I remembered. We are here. Now. Almost three years and it seems like a life time since we uprooted our family and headed South.
South. Where everything is different, but especially the trees. I can’t get over this one. A Magnolia that produces tulips. How does that happen?
Here. Where my children are saying faar instead of fire and sad is stretched into two syllables. They hardly remember our old yellow house or the big church tucked into the hillside, but they do still talk about the rain. How it came down for days and gave us cabin fever.
As the temperature soars this week, they might be wishing for that rain.
Such a small word loaded down with complicated emotions.
A status update, a picture posted that doesn’t include me, an overheard conversation- almost lyrical in its Southern accent…reminders everywhere that I am here. Now.
This is another week of flash writing, an unedited five minutes of writing on a specific prompt. Won’t you join us? Head over here for all the details.