Six.
Just a side note about the origins of the mohawk on Franklin Street. Parents up and down the block colluded to allow them, provided that once the thrill was gone, it would all come off. Little did we know that was the aim all along. High and tight. Well played mom, dad. Well played indeed.
I had no clue what I wanted to be at five and am still figuring it out at five plus sixty one. No matter. I am loving life as it has turned out to be for me. I am learning new things, trying new things, making copious amounts of mistakes, trying again, letting go and just letting Him.
So in a few, the Christmas lights will be coming down, as will a buckthorn, I can see if more daffodils are poking through the dirt and family is on the way for the night.
I did a lot in my life and intend to do even more.
Just can’t grow that mohawk again.
Mullet, maybe.
...my temporary assignment. 