My mother runs toward me

wearing a peach-colored dress, and laughing. I can smell the grass of that summer sticking to the peach-colored dress. There are no shadows and her hair is copper like the strands that small birds carry, proudly.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...