"Make me a word," I said, "A word of my very own."
Grandma was forever making up words - words that sounded like what they meant and words that didn't; words rootless and words that would turn out to be not new and not made up at all, but something ancient she'd caught gently, cupped in mind fingers like some little feathery thing, to hold for just the right safe moment before letting them flutter off free.
"Make me a word," I said.
1 comment:
As a word-collector, I love this. Thanks!
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