Ainsley was only 3, and she called me ‘Misty,”
because I guess when you’re 3 your preschool
teacher ‘Miss De’ sounds like ‘Misty.’ And she’d
be about 38 years old now and sometimes I want
to tell her I still feel Misty. Like the world’s got
more fog than flow, and none of us really know
what we’re doing, right? It’s like that crazy
picture. The one where the dogs are all playing
poker. Utter nonsense. Because really, nothing
makes any sense at all if you think about it long
enough. Or think about growing old, time-knotted
trees. We’re all in, we place our best. We fold.
Anyway, I wonder what became of her. Of me?
Day 21 for NaPoWriMo.
Note: Happy Trails was the name of the daycare I worked at when I was 17. Ainsley was my favorite.