minty teeth and the rush of a comb brushed through and back pack swung back for a swing round clatter down out door slam. stride down rain slicked slap flat puddle pooled road, cars packed cold close with pollen crusts dripping down now. air shines silver like a sheet dime, bird songs break sharp, spin loud, fly by. check clock, bit close, look back, see bus, run thump and jumble quick for bus rolling rumble heavy lumbering up. doors wheeze wide, climb through into thrumming warm inside. on time!
Grey and green. I cling to Mom's forest green pleather jacket and attempt to bury my face against its cold surface. She holds me, laughing and chatting in a flow of Dutch sentences that I feel rumbling through her chest. The air is metallic and sharp. It whistles through the crevices and pinches my eyes, my cheeks, my nose. Voices--Oma, Opa, Dad. I look up. A gust smacks against my face and sucks my breath away so that I gasp, fish-faced. There is laughter, cooing, teeth.