It went around and around, never stopping, never slowing, that carousel the color of night.
We clasped hands under the big green sky, in the sticky quiet that comes before the storm.
The sun laughed and seeds fell from the corners of her mouth. They burrowed deep into the earth and slept for a season.
The house she and her mother shared was small, so small it begged pardon for being there at all.
It was his freckles that convinced her he was worth the extra effort.
The wall reached high overhead, ending in a soft curve of petals, pink against the blue of the sky.
The book had been waiting for her as many years as she’d been alive.
After I sketched this, I was inspired to write a little ode to the birds of the air. I hope you enjoy!