the phone now, and trent answers.
his voice wobbles like the spinning top we bought in mexico.
and i hug our boys on the bedroom floor.
he hangs up the phone, face ashen; holds us with his eyes. “one of my students lost his dad tonight. a farming accident, tore off both of his arms and i guess the blood–”
and his eyes shift and there’s nothing more to be said, just a gasping …
(for more, please visit me here at A Deeper Story, friends… but first, won’t you link up below?)
**wishing you the happiest of thanksgiving’s, my american friends, and uttering deep gratitude for all of you, for the comments you left me on sunday’s post; you are so very good to me…**
1. link up a post (old or new) between wednesday and friday that you feel is ‘broken’ or ‘imperfect’ or somehow redemptive
2. put the ‘imperfect prose’ button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog)
3. read at least one other person’s linked-up prose, and give ’em praise!
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(‘monarch’ painting by emily wierenga; prints available here)