Everything is Temporary My grandmother had a blood red rose that twirled around a post on her front porch. There’s a picture of me standing next to it when my eyes were still fresh and she was in the kitchen cooking tiny butter beans just picked that morning by my grandfather’s hands. Thumbing through the old photo album I pause at that photo, remember how my dad dug up the rose before the old house was sold, replanted it in my parents’ backyard. A few pages later there it is, twirling over my parents’ porch, now only a picture in … Continue reading NaPoWriMo Day 20