Bubbles and princesses.
The fields lay in the distance full of ripe soy beans and corn. Nearly ready for harvest. The sun rests just beyond in a burning orange as it begins to slip past the horizon. The children’s shrieks of laughter come from behind as they run through our front yard and the yards of our neighbors. Even the fur-child has found a friend and rolls beneath the large oaks in the lush bright green grass.
Our new home. There is magic here. I hope to scoop some of the fairy dust that had been sprinkled on us in the community with gifts of corn, green beans, and tomatoes and place it in my pocket for a rainy day.
The laughter stops briefly, as a princess in heels and jewelry scootering down the street has fought the dragon and lost. She refuses to extend her arm. I know what it is, and how to fix it. Something so satisfying in reducing a nursemaid’s elbow. The faint click as bones go back to their intended spaces. The joy of the bubble returns.
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