It was the thundering 80’s when I was conceived. A healthy brown baby doll- 8’pounds, 13, ounces. Dark brown eyes to match my glowing skin. Mama’ said “she’d stayed off drugs long enough to have me.” After that she gave her life to Jesus. Prayed that I’d turn out alright.

staying with the moment, enough- to wonder, if I’d -been born of a different time. Would I Charleston, with the roaring 20’s? Could I lap-out a scat-ta-tat-tat- tap? Or Mash Potato my way through dangers seen and unseen. Would my pen and I be the same?

Staring my imagination, right in the middle of a vivacious swing, I pulled out my umbrella, I was prepared but this rain came out of nowhere, with impeccable timing – thrashing and thrashing.

I ran into a brick wall, all because, I took the long way home. Jumped over the first puddle but hit the wall instead. The umbrella cushioned the blow. Yes, I was hurt but I pretended like I was admiring each pink and red square of that wall.

Slowly slinking away with my wounded umbrella and pride.

sometimes there are just days like this…(okay maybe just for the dreamers out there)

kindness sister Krissy