Photo courtesy of Llywelyn Nys
The rising sun had yet to meet the sky, and hues of pink changed the clouds to delicious cotton candy. She shut the door quietly, trying not to wake her father, then flipped yesterday’s braids behind her, and tiptoed quickly off the deck.
Wet grass slipped between her bare toes as she ran toward the towering tree.
Once there, her small hands tugged at the ropes, pulling herself to sit on the wood, hand-carved by her papa. She tipped her head, purple nightgown soaring behind her like a cape. Her toes touched the coveted sky.
Often, she dreamt of flying.
Danielle Dayney 
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