Fidgety on a rainy April Saturday, Lily leafs through a dog-eared photo album. She sees a bright-eyed young woman atop a docile mare and pictures herself managing a mountainside ranch: tending calves, breaking wild horses, and mending fences. She knows it would be a laborious life, but she imagines the rush of the wind on her face and the scent of the unspoiled alfalfa air. ‘That’s your great-grandmother’, her father exclaims over her shoulder. ‘She grew up in the city too.’
! Remark: “Mind Fragment” posts are fictitious prose, and none of them is about me.