Eight is late-summer sweetness. It’s ponytails and floral skirts and little toe nails painted pink. It’s salted cucumber slices on cold china. It’s running through the sprinklers in the backyard and picking peas off the vine. It’s laying in the grass at dusk and itching mosquito bites. It’s glasses clinking against the counter and bowls of melted chocolate ice cream. It’s white linen and fresh cut flowers. It’s music pouring out of open windows. It’s the sound of my mother’s voice saying I love you.
© Ecco Driscoll, 2019.