If I Were a Surprise
If I were a surprise, I would be the one that brought the tears to Emily’s eyes. Her mom hustled her into the car with nary a please. No time to dawdle, we have to go now.
I had driven 1,800 miles in two days instead of three to pick up my daughter for summer vacation.
The shock was complete and watching it register on Emily’s face was something to behold.
She first looked, then started smiling wider and wider as the tears started and her chatter stopped.
“Daddy, you tricked me, you weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow or something,” came through my little girl’s happy cries. Come to think of it, I was a surprise.
Hot Air Balloon
How quaint I should think not of a New Mexico sky filled with floating orbs of every color, but an old busybody who was free to tell everyone, but mostly her family how poorly they behave and how much they disappoint.
So lovely to look at big balloons floating in the brilliant summer skies as I drive along a lonely desert highway.
Too bad you ruined it by being so hateful and everything you should not be, because you could not be anything but a bag filled with hot air.
Homeward Bound
“Where that blue trailer is used to be a flowered hill. Dad found some Abenaki arrowheads over there, sharp still. Over on this side were two old well-climbed willow trees.” They tore down the house but I rebuilt it in my memories.
16 years ago our family moved away from the old farm, Now I visit, trying to show my daughter its charm, “Along here we grew carrots, corn, lettuce and peas…” They tore down the house but I rebuilt it in my memories.
Bulldozers came and beat, bladed, and shaped the land, changing everything my dad built with his own hand. I was sad to see it all gone, like a spring breeze. They tore down the house but I rebuilt it in my memories.
“Where that blue trailer is used to be a flowered hill…” They tore down the house but I rebuilt it in my memories.
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