"Bummer" I exclaimed as he swept the board. He laughed.
"BIG bummer" he shouted as I swept the board. I laughed.
"What else is a big bummer?" the seven year old asked brightly.
"Falling off the swings," I answered.
Being born into abuse and neglect, I thought.
“Let’s play again on Thursday,” he said skipping off to his foster mother.
The yard was littered with balls, bikes, and flowers. Just another military home.
Pardon my mess, she welcomed. An unfamiliar face peeked around the kitchen door.
I brought snacks, I offered.
The boys will love them, thanks. Her face fell and she fought back tears. I looked behind me.
A uniformed man carried the box of belongings to the widow.
He stepped off the porch and smoothly hopped back up.
Burr?
A snake. A fat, black water moccasin. Neighbors say kill it with a shovel. There’s only a paint scraper with an extension pole. What can we do? “Aerate the lawn” with some practice throws.
Combat boots, shorts, and perfect aim from atop the deck bench. My husband, my hero.
The first night in our own home. Goodbye Destin.
Dark and quiet. How did you sleep? Like a log.
Me too.
Did you leave the truck unlocked? Stuff is scattered everywhere but nothing appears missing.
Did you see this note on the front door? Bears. They’re getting into trash. Better put the bin in the garage.
Foolish kids. Smart bears.
My wrist aches to my fingertips. My leg is on fire. My back is a bit tight. It’s six in the morning and the left side of my body is protesting.
You must be awake, he says groggily. Are you sore from the run?
No, I’m sore from life. Is it supposed to storm today?
Actually, yes. Good morning Grandma.
