KITE STRINGS

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Dust motes swirl in the moonlight. With cupped hands, she reaches out to catch them. Childlike glee shines in hazel eyes of her weathered face and skeletal smile — a little girl intent on catching snowflakes.

In the first light of day, he walks with arthritic slowness toward the sliding glass door. Bracing his weight on his walker, he tries to pick up the sunbeam from the faded carpet.

Years ago, they had made a promise: “If I lose my mind, I want to go sky diving without a parachute.”

I hang up the phone. “Mom, dad, your flight’s ready.”

Her writing muse lurks in the volcanic hills amidst mustangs, marmots and jackalopes. While hiking with her dogs, Ann stumbles upon stories of dark humor.

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