My Heart Goes Pitty-Pat

…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.