Writing

Hurlers

Hurlers. I wanted them to swirl, to lift me up with the wind, to dance like they used to. But all around them was snow. I gathered it up in my hands. I ran laughing and playing in the cold.

The dogs barked and I knew I was home.

Eventually, we climbed to the top of a boulder and our eyes found their way across the fields, the green and the ever-crowding trees.

I had strawberries and they tasted fresh in the age old land.