Sunday afternoons are the worst.

The stillness brings flashbacks of the tv dinner / hard eyes / swirling cig smoke combo. Suffocation.

I keep rolling. Stepping through the trees. Logging miles on the decades between me and that.

When I finish it’s dark and heading into Monday. I’m still here; escaped again.

Petra lives, works, and writes in the Philadelphia area. She is in the process of publishing her first book. Her days are spent selling Real Estate, planning jaw-dropping travel itineraries, and awaiting the birth of her first grandchild. She has (and always will have) a little white dog. The current one is named Bindi.