When I left this morning, Mrs. Claus was finishing off a green-and-red monstrosity featuring the polar bear from the ice floe next door.
I just can’t spill to a guy whose name is Dr. Quacky, and he’s the only therapist in town.
Tomorrow is flight night, December 25th.
My own sorrow stays behind shrinking smaller and smaller, and then to nothing while I am lost in the beautiful emptiness of cold sky and wind on my cheeks.
Rachel, would you like to send us a bio with links to you and your work?
If so, please click here.
Thank you, Rachel!
