Holly Hurst went to the same first-grade class as I did. She rode the school-bus every day, and sometimes sat in front of me. Her pigtails were the shining blonde of youth, impossibly bright. Of her sunny smile, I was rather fond; and her giggle was sheer delight. Oh, being a child isn't always heaven, there's so much that we must depend on - but the innocence I miss. Like the day she turned around in her seat, and blessed my lips with her first completely pure spontaneous kiss.
San Jose, August 26, 1998
©1998,2020 Howard A. Landman
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