The sun's out, and the sand looks like snow, white and glittering.
She gives me her trust like she would her child. I cradle it with awkward care, feeling its quiet hammering pulse and knowing I must never lose hold of it.
On the playground, she encounters children who lie charmingly and convincingly, who are friendly one day and insulting the next. She doesn't know what to make of them; they confuse her. Beyond what they do, it's the why - the why is at the heart of the bewildered hurt.
Sleek men attend to their ale and steak.
The dog, at the end of her leash, recognizes my scent, whines, leaps and strains to get close, to be petted and present her belly for a rub.
Between me and him - a window pane, the twisted branches of a tree.
In their academic gowns, they circle the stage and size each other up, as if their battle of wits will be a physical brawl.