Mood Piece January 27 2018

She was immortal, like all 7 year olds are immortal. That peculiar blend of unexamined courage and egoless will that puts to shame any idea that the summer would ever end. Every sunset became a time of fireflies, and stories; the light was always just resting, never dying. Her face was dirty, her clothes in disarray, her head held high and her eyes bright. No queen or emperor had ever walked the earth with more certainty. She was immortal, truly, and for a time it seemed like all the world was her garden.