Quiet morning moves me slowly through it. Breaths of spring air between home and barn almost make me lose my head and resolve. Paperwork to find, to add, to call in to my accountant. Yes, I could do the taxes too, I suppose, but he knows the ins and outs and where the line lies with no lying. Digging through the piles of papers, flash-reading words backward in time to find the ones I need. Flash images of months past, lives lived and lives gone by, a broken-hearted year…
…all there in a box of words.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology