Reflections on the life of a wife/mother/step-mom/daughter/teacher.
I ask my students to write every day. It only makes sense that I do the same.
Saturday, March 19, 2016
Gnarled, twisted fingers reaching out from a hunched trunk. Cold, withered, weathered despite the abundant sunshine. Missing a snowy blanket to keep them warm. They wait for spring leaves and blossoms. We wait with them.