Saturday, December 4, 2010

Poetry, Etc.

John was climbing up the windshield and on top of the car.

"Look at how bold John is, Sarah."

"Daddy, I'm not bald, you're bald."


We were driving to the library in the late afternoon.

"Daddy, the sun is the eye of death."


"It looks like Christmas, Daddy."

"Why do you say that, John?"

"Because I like to."