The wind plays with the snowy cotton tufts of your hair and lifts the freshly washed sheets you pin to the line. Timid of the “Hulk” that chased your beloved birds the other day, I gather a bouquet of silver, velvet willows I was certain came from kittens.

Tonight, after I fumble with the familiar fruits and flowers collected on your fridge, we will follow the yellow brick road and you’ll shield my eyes from the witch. I’ll watch dancers magically twirl to twinkling music among your jewelry.  Then I will snuggle up against your soft, warm cheek in a fit of giggles over a made up game of “Peep, Ribbit.”

As I lay on my tummy lost in Saturday morning cartoons, you’ll bring me a tray with orange juice and a perfectly buttered English Muffin. When I go back home, I’ll ride in your lap, your arms a protective seatbelt laced across my rounded, little girl tummy, feeling loved by you and forever five.