Why are we here? Why we ARE here. All saints day in the park.
What do you call mentally disabled children now? She was frightened and visibly distressed by the noise of the distant tractor. I watched from my car as the kind, patient, unruffled assistants tried to coax her to join the others who’d found their way to the picnic area. Look at her hand as she tries to reenter the bus. So tentative about the life she inhabits. Someone started to blow bubbles to distract her – to little effect. Finally they coaxed her with the promise of pizza. They took her hand and drifted past my windshield. One of the bubbles persisted for a few moments against a bright blue sky. It finally drifted downward and gave up its form above the freshly mown grass. I tried not to weep.