"Though hard to you, this journey may appear, grace shall be as your day."
Come, Come Ye Saints ~ Hymn
Someone who made me laugh
Matthew and his total fail at a soda explosion.
Loving:
My hair; my family; Sundays; this four-day weekend.
Hating:
America's paradigm about work.
Wishing:
My aunt, uncles, and grandparents from SC, NC, VI and IL would MOVE TO TEXAS ALREADY.
I was tired of being old. I yearned to be a child again.
My fingers were bony, fragile and achey; my skin, stretched, hung loosely in all places. My hair had grayed and my vision was no longer like that of a hawk's.
My husband had alternated from a wild, young, free spirit of a boy to a cross, ill-tempered body of a man. I often wondered what happened to the Paul I once knew.
We drove down an old dirt road near my father's farm. The fence that laid alongside the dirt whirled passed us with a blur. That fence was somewhat of a friend to me; it had acted as a unicorn, a protective wall, a barricade between me and the monsters. The fence was a subject of my imagination. It was an emblem of my childhood.
"Paul, stop the car." I commanded in a hushed tone. I expected him to question me, but he didn't.
The cold world that expected me to be someone I am not was no longer a demand to face. I didn't care that I was being immature, nor did I care I was in a dress. My husband followed me as I approached that fence, that memory.
We became children again.
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