Tales From the Burning Prairie

Monkey safely ensconced in school, Pumpkin and I walked home in the chill morning. Her caramel-colored ringlets curled all around the edge of her little pink hoodie. She stopped to pick a flower still closed and dewy. We walked on for about another half block and she looked up at me and said, “When I was a little butterfly, I will go flying!” (Verb tense is not her strong suit, she’s 3.) I said, “You will go flying?” She said, “Yes!” and then, “I will go flying up to space!”

Another poet in the House of The Burning Prairie. I am a proud mama.