Well there you have it. There ya go. The day winds down from high wire tension to swirl into a mellow mood. Acceptance of being good but only just and still not quite enough. So tired. The mist hangs in the air as if all by itself it turns the grass green. Daffodils grow inches every day; the spurt of infancy and yet they’re old, so very old dressed in new wings. I look behind me, but nothing’s there.
Photos in the mail, a mother, father, three young girls. Me riding on a camel. In my father’s ’49 black Oldsmobile. All just about gone now. Where are they when I have proof here that they were? Where has the camel gone?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology