I find it so much easier to choose a favorite photograph than a favorite short story or poem.
The memory of taking “Concrete Angel” is as vivid in my mind as the morning I took it. The Gardens were almost empty save for the few staff setting up for the impending crowd. The sun was rising over the lake and I had the luxury of waiting for it to elevate over the trees just enough to light up my angel. The dew on the grass filling my head with the joy of being alive. Her toes curled in the sand, eyes closed basking in the warmth, her wings stretched back. A golden halo of hay framing her head. And then I was gone before everyone else arrived.
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