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Weekly Contest #51
Phoebe is lying in the field, her heavy frame compacting the earth and her eyes upturned to heaven. Her thick arm is outstretched, reaching up to the stars. Slowly and deliberately, she traces out the paths of her childhood with a pointed finger. She draws her mother’s round face, two stars for her eyes, shining out of a web of wrinkles. A cluster of stars under a wispy cloud could be her little sister’s tuft of hair. But Betty is ten now, so instead she picks out a little kicking stick figure, booting a pinprick football against the garden ...
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