The goslings are growing up. Their fluffy yellow has grown into the awkward teenage coloration of wet sand. Soon they will look like their parents and fly away.
I found my old passport yesterday while cleaning. The picture didn't look anything like me. There were no lines carved into her face. She looked fresh and ready to go. She was going to London and the year was 2000. She's heavier now and it shows, in her thoughts, her feelings, and in her thighs. That girl almost twelve years ago doesn't know what's coming. The work, the school, the marriage and divorce peppered with video games and alcohol. How could twelve years disappear without a fight? Why isn't there a face cream to restore hope?
