somehow
it's never
the
way weplanned
it.
The grass looked greener, but each
determined, purpose-filled stride
carries me deeper into the mireever slower, I thread
my way
through the minefield of
unseen
wet
spotsterrain negotiating
with my store of fearful
experience, my
accumulated heavynessof being.
Sasha
small girl barely three years old, runs laughing in the wind
toward the swings oblivious, her red ski jacket
burst of colour ten sizes too large, she is a beach ball,
a red balloon bouncing across the landscape,squishy squishysqush squishish squish squishypoo squish
my
own feet
cautious, prudent
sinkdeeper into the mud.
