Today’s entry is needfully short rather than functionally so.
Morning’s moisture skimmed the yesterday-mown grass. Sunlight blazed through that dew in haphazard splotches and streaked over the drier foot path. The child insisted she was to be seated next to her Father–but not that close.
She extended her fisted hands. “Which one?”
He taps the left–his left. “This one.”
She opens it empty.
He taps the other. “That one.”
She opens it empty and laughs.
“You got me!”
The little girl grabs his hands formed them into fists as best she can, “You do now?”