The water that has since washed them away
-those structures built by my daughter, carefully or with abandon depending on the day-
leaves patterns in the dirt,
waves and trails and hiccups that become, after a sincere but brief mourning period,
landscapes for new adventures
in this extra fine dirt with an inexplicable sparkle, fairy dust as she dances through it-
a deserted construction site miracle, this dancing- and
then yesterday, she said, “Mom! My mountain. It’s still there” and I see that
it had survived a downpour and I,
let her think it was another miracle
instead of swiping on my phone to teach her how cement hardens under water,
that years from now,
she will forgive me.
Amy Snodgrass eats a lot of Dove dark chocolate.