metaphor

      I once suggested she have a good cry she said “I’m afraid if I start I’ll never be able to stop”        

rich

                  hide and go seek in her greenhouse pots of iris and gladiola bulbs the air was thick and rich with the scent of dirt      

big red

      our clubhouse was in the hayloft of the old barn hot and stuffy in summer freezing cold in winter we listened to Beatle records over and over again on a dusty turntable    

warmth

      the sweet scent of oranges warm yellow walls her curtains were gingham like the aprons she sewed        

yard karma

  July 3, 1971 driving my friend’s family’s Lincoln Continental from Edgartown to Vineyard Haven picked up few hitchhikers along the way someone turned on the radio to the news that Jim Morrison had died