sweetness
sweetness “I don’t like life… it always ends in death!” My not-yet-eight year old wailed. Our kitty, one of a set long gone and nowhere to be found. A couple days before, she whisked out the back, frolicked through the meadow Sat high on the arm of an old Adirondack and explored the neighbors’ place, abandoned and spooky at will. A butterfly with her coloring, An ice cream made of the same Shades: part graham cracker crust, part Oreo, part cookie dough. “I hear how much this hurts, dear.” I say and trust When my girl is ready, she’ll see our kitty’s sweetness in all it’s subtleties remains.