June 9, 2018, a day of sun and storm, the Sparrows Point waterfront lush from two months of almost daily rain.
Emma will be three soon.
Her head comes up just past my knee and her brass-colored hair is piled high after Mommy brushed it.
Her eyes are big and expressive, her mouth small and pensive and her energy such that it makes this old man feel like mortals speed up every time I crack the lid on my coffin.
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I liked My Flowers. Emma is lucky to have you in her life. I love the picture of you and dad. Love, mom