It’s drizzling. That light, refreshing sprinkle of droplets on my bare arms and I swirl and turn and spin, arms outstretched, reaching, reaching, reaching. I allow myself the dizzying freedom of falling, collapsing onto a pile of leaves under a large sturdy oak. I lie there a bit and my mind travels. Back through the...
Regrets, I’ve Had a Few by Marilyn Weisman
