Fathers are like the forgotten, fallow fields where the seeds they planted lie dormant for many years until one night, when the moon is full and a soft rain comes slowly trickling down the cheeks of memory's fading face to fill the field.
At first with splatters and then a fitful flood, till the dawn discloses diamonds and emeralds; the flowers of a sudden Spring.
That is so lovely..
Thank you!
Has any of your work been published?
Ms.B