Summer is when you have a shower and do not towel dry. Instead you wash by hand the clothes you had previously stepped out of, all the while noticing in the mirror the new wrinkles that etched character last winter into your middle age.

They glory in the brightness streaming through the window. You don’t care so much, as wonder who this new person is – or will be next year. At least you can still touch your toes. That’s something.

©2019 Allison Wright–
[80 words]


One thought on “Summers

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