Don't Tiptoe

Cotton candy skies overlooking the farm might as well have been the sapphire horizon of the Tuscan coast. The pond, thick and overpopulated with catfish, a substitute for the rolling, Baltic Sea. I was perched in a tree on a 2x4, 8 feet off the ground at best. But in the snapshot of my memory, I’m looking out the dormer of a castle with hundreds of acres of lush green countryside slithering into the sunset.

Five Years

Sadly, trying to write about my mom is like trying to write about the ocean. I can talk about how deep the ocean, how frightening its waves and soothing its sounds, but without tasting the salt and wetting your feet and laying prostrate on its beaches, you can’t know the ocean. Description without experience is lame.