…as the path turns into the ocean

Sometimes I wonder when the path will end…will it turn into a sandy walk by water too big for me to handle? How do my sister and brother fare at this time? For a family when platitudes and reactionary spasms reign supreme, it can be a hard time. There are too many unknowns.

As her hand becomes almost brittle from a grasp that  never wants to end, she uses her other hand to dismiss the one that tightly surrounds my own.

The look in her eyes as she remembers bits and pieces of other stories to create her own – tender creativity and the semblance of normalcy that others wouldn’t see as remiss.

Her turn into the proverbial story teller who illustrates with stories upon other stories, is a delight to  welcoming ears of tomes that come in all flavors, shapes, and sizes.

As the path turns into the ocean of graveled waves, her hands turn into the softness of a blown kiss upon.


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