How Weird Was It That So Many

The Best Gifts Come From The Heart, Not The Store.

She Bought Seeds And Raided Nurseries And Mulched And Composted And Spent Full Days With Her Hands Full Of Earth, Coaxing Life Our Of The Dry, Dull Grass My Father Had Spent Years Pushing A Mower Over.

It Seemed Like This Day Could Go In So Many Directions, Like A Spiderweb Shooting Out Toward Endless Possibilities.

Harder To Get In Than Out, Like So Little Else.

Then I'd Crawl Back Into Bed, Smelling Her All Around Me, And Tell Myself That Next Time, I Would Lock That Window. But I Never Did.