Moms are magic. I imagine other moms are like mine, the embodiment of magic.
Sunlight stutters through overhanging trees, leaves rustling in the summer breeze. The warmth nurses my arthritic bones.
My siblings and I not only received our lives, but we were shaped and directed by mom’s beliefs, her choices. Who would I be if not for this magic? Certainly not myself, not a writer.
Children play in the park fountain. Happiness nourishes me from peels of unfettered joy.
A squirrel glides and pauses across the lawn. Her gait is blemished, and I realize she is old, like me. Continue reading Legacy