[100 days of 100 words] 50/100 Almost two

Today floated by like grey balloons. Puddles on my pink shoes, wind moving my hair, scrunching my face. I rode the train over the blowing water. On the walk to the museum I jumped and danced.

There were bicycles.

Puzzles and dolls. Cars and babies. A blue Easter egg for lunch. The owl that hoots when I tell it to.

And running, always running. Never wanting to go home.

Bouncing back over the bridge, rain on my face. The sleepy feeling of hair in my hands.

Wonderful day. Someday I’ll have more words for it than “yes, Mommy, please, again?”

[100 days of 100 words] 51/100

What if the last thing you ever saw was the front of a bus, the barrel of a gun, the back of an airplane seat?

What if a rapidly approaching telephone pole were the end to your search for meaning?

Even if it were poetic, a final, limitless flight through silent summer air as you sailed from the seat of your bicycle, time slowing to stop-frame as you took in every sunspark, every green-black leaf, every red and blue chrome flash of cars catching the light, the conclusion would still be flat, unforgiving asphalt.

What if that is the meaning?