i sit on the gallon bucket. the one that holds the paint intended to cover old wounds on the house built in 1925. the paint and the brush will likely never meet. these wounds on wood don't seem to matter much anymore.
three little girls with princess dressing dragging the ground play in the open spaces while someone else's little girl cautiously enters into a decked out SUV. she doesn't know him and he doesn't care to know her.
the holy spirit whispers "made in the image of God." i whisper a pray for their souls.
the buying and selling of women and the running and playing of children. same time, same place. my worlds collide and i hold close the little girl i love and i weep for the little girl whose pain i will never know.