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by Richard Martinus
Originally published by on 09/05/2016

The shower passed, the sun re-emerged, steaming wetness off the pavement. White clouds swirled around us as we strolled, hand in hand, my little princess and I.

She: eyes bright with wonder, cheeks red with life, water droplets sparkling like diamonds in her hair. There is something innately graceful about five-year-old girls, a spiritual purity, a Fabergé egg-like delicacy so dismally absent in their grubby, snot-smeared male peers. If I could only preserve it – shield her from the indignities of coming years…

“Let’s play a game, Daddy.'

“Certainly, darling. What shall we play?'

“Who can stamp on the most snails!'

Richard Martinus Merits

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