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When Time Slows to a Stop

These days. How they slip beneath my feet. Some feeling sturdy like walking on ancient rocks. Others, suddenly, without warning, like the ground has turned to ice. Thin, precarious. And I wonder - where’d that come from? Then I think of a perfect day. A Perfect moment. A slice of time I can slip into. One where time almost slowed to a complete stop. Almost. A long, sweet moment I can enter, pull around me like a blanket. Me and Sister and Daddy sitting on his boat. Red cane poles in hand. The cicadas singing in the trees. The sunlight forming stars across Holmes Creek. Mama rocking my baby in her arms singing a lullybye that drifts down, down, down to the water’s edge. Finds us fishing, saying nothing, except when I think I have a bite, red cork bobbing, and I lift the line, check the hook. Daddy says, It’s just the wind. And I drop my hook, worm untouched, back beneath the surface. And I wonder, How does he always know the difference between one thing and another? And Mama keeps on singing.

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