Tuesday, March 10, 2009

100 Words

A giggling 7 year old with long fiery red curls splashed into the pool.

I smiled, splashing back and saying, "hey y'all" as all southern born and bred children do.

Her "hello" was lyrically melodic, fascinating to my virgin ears. I just met Pippi Longstocking, I thought.

"Everyone out of the pool," squawked the loudspeaker, before I knew her name.

A flash of lightening rippling silently overhead, ended our hesitation.

Scurrying us to safety, our mothers exchanged mailing addresses.

Two weeks later, A Union Jack in the left hand corner of her letter revealed everything.

Thus began a British fantasy.

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