Saturday Mornings With His Dad
Sometimes, a dream is more than a dream
Today’s random word is main.
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Was that the sun?
Or something more?
A dream?
Yet.
He could taste the chocolate donut with white frosting.
And feel the hole in his heart.
Marcus Borg called them thin places.
When the dead communicate.
They walked through the rebuilt patio, up the two stone stairs, and to the garage with the broken door.
On their way to the bakery on Main Street.
It was a Saturday morning.
Inside, a used, white Fiat.
With two missing front seats.
It’s been thirty-one years.
He’s now older than his dad.
Another walk to the garage.
Another Main Street.
Another donut.
Nancy S Rust has written a prescient Drabble.
What better way to spend a few minutes than reading Drabbles?
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