“I wish I had their legs,” I hollered at the mother as her two girls raced ahead on the path.
“Well, they get to go to bed at 8 PM,” she chuckled back.
Such a jolly, inane exchange.
Then I thought, wait a second, what if I went to bed at 8?
rJo Herman dreams of writing the one perfect tale her grandchildren will tell their grandchildren. She lives in the Colorado high desert with her grey striped companion, Emil Catt I.
Emil Catt yowled piteously at the door for an hour this morning.
“Enough!” And I let him out.
He came back when I called, and as I picked him up to ruffle his head, I looked into the eyes of the owl sitting in the tallest pine, feigning distinterest.
rJo Herman dreams of writing the perfect story her grandchildren will always remember. She lives with her grey striped companion, Emil Catt, I, on the Colorado high desert.
We sixty-three stomped in en masse to tidy up the graves. Hundreds of Canada geese already grooming the grounds lifted as one into the air, circled, scolded.
We finished in record time, dried wreaths, wilted flowers piled by the curbs.
Eighty thousand graves freshened ’til Memorial Day. Rest in peace.
rJo Herman dreams of writing one perfect tale her grandchildren will pass down to their grandchildren. She lives with her grey-striped companion, Emil Catt, I, in the Colorado high desert.
Editor’s Note: Martin Luther King day was on January 21. I apologize for seeing this story too late to post it on that date…