My girl is a lover of nature, of cats, of horses.
She does not love shoes, nor boys, nor routine. This is her summer of being 10. Of exploring the back yard, and writing adventure stories.
It’s the year when getting-poison-ivy-isn’t-that-bad-if-you-can-find-the-perfect-tree-to-sit-in-and-draw.
And it’s my year to reflect on how few summers like this we have left together. Before all the little girl wears off and she’s suddenly a young woman.
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