I pouted, kicking gravel as I shuffled down the alley behind my house. The cicadas’ cacophony that night was just another reminder of the languid dog days of summer. Fifth grade couldn’t start soon enough; I was bored!
As I approached the edge of the neighbor’s adjacent property I admired the monstrous, but graceful tree. Gazing up, I parted the boughs as an imperial curtain. Stepping inside, I bathed myself in the thousands of cascading branches of that beautiful weeping willow. Green tumbled around me like spent fireworks. I had no cares.
I peeked through my shroud to Lucille’s kitchen window to see if she was at her sink. And there she was in a pink flowered apron, washing up the dinner dishes, I supposed. I could see her luminescent blue hair. I knew other old ladies in town who colored their gray hair blue, but hers was the bluest! I just knew when I got old…I wanted pretty blue hair, too.
An impatient sigh escaped my adolescent lungs. Such a long time to wait.