Water knows something about surviving great leaps. We love even the small ones so much we name them so that any person standing on
Mayfly nymphs might have sensed the interrupting gods, my small, inquisitive fingers wondering at their triple tails, pulsing in the water. I, too, would
That time early Sixties sitting outside the squeaky lawn furniture speaking up Kate gesturing with her wine glass her lipsticked mouth forming words red
The mint smell from the deepest pocket in her handbag. She was speaking to a stranger, or she was emptying the groceries into the