The closer she would come to reaching the appropriate decibel and a plausible duration, the perfect balance of pitch and tone, a precise degree of backward head tilt and the occasional snort followed by an emergency “oops” and a graceful hand gesture covering her mouth just enough to display embarrassment but not regret, the more she would begin to believe her own laugh.
“I must seem so insignificant to you,” said the ladybug to the man…
And they call us poor, Father, as if it were a curse.
Late October Days
She stood unaccompanied in the room of hushed conversations and snide laughter.
My entry for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday, hosted by Linda G. Hill.