My friend wears a garland of flowers around her neck and she is dancing, joyfully. Behind her, through the smoke-machine haze, the rays of the low sun setting behind the orchard spread out in a starburst. I am dancing too, twirling in my festival dress, but the light is so unutterably perfect that I pause and rummage for my phone to take a snap, before …
© 2024 Laura Pashby
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