My mom and I were playing catch in Otis’s back yard. My mom’s a terrible tosser.
My mom and I were playing catch in Otis’s back yard. My mom’s a terrible tosser.
“The picture you see here from Santa Fe is me, laying in a bed of clover,”
“Still, it was pretty funny,” said Scooter. “Until I hear you say that bad word.”
Have you ever smelled California’s Central Valley? Oh my! It is glorious.
I very nearly started to tell you about the massive jet tub that occupies a third of the suite’s space.
We are in the week when Earth blunders its way through a cloud of meteor debris the Comet Swift-Tuttle scatters from its tail during its annual orbit of the sun.
“I’m glad you didn’t have your camera handy.” We are reminiscing, Scooter Sublime and I.
I want to say that real rats run throughout the world but that’s not quite right. There are three ‘rat-free’ places. Do you know where they are?
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said.
“Don’t explain,” Scooter urged. “Describe it.”
Did you see that, Mom?
“I saw that.”
“Were you watching?”
“I was.”
“But you’re not watching now.”
Picture it. Scooter, snug in his thick winter coat, runs wide-legged and swift through soft sand, careening up to his elbows into the edge of ocean water that pretends containment,