…every time Scott writes about our kids.
I call her name. No reply. Louder. Nothing. The dragon’s got her but
good and who can blame her? Can I really compete with such a wingéd,
scaléd green beast?
I try again and this time she looks up. I make the sign for “car,” and she beams, hops down off the couch.
The earth’s rotation wavers slightly from the sheer beauty of her in motion.
It Ain’t Easy Being My Daughter
Two Thousand Words: My Boys
These Things Always Have to Happen on a Sunday
Five Golden Rings