What was on the wall that day.
My grandfather's barn. The way the hay dust looked in the slats of sunlight.
Squeak of new sneakers.
My mother saves the cardinal feathers she finds for me.
My sister tells me when my hair looks bad. I count that as love.
Fireflies on the hill behind the house. The kids are too old now but they still come out to watch.
A turtle crossing the dirt road. We waited.
Grateful that I made it to fifty. Some of my friends didn't.
The maple on the corner turned overnight. Yesterday green, this morning fire.
Stepping on a crunchy patch of leaves in fall.
Reaching the chapter break right at the end of my commute.
My mother said this song was on the radio when she met my father. I still hear it and look around for them.
I have a daughter who texts me pictures of clouds.