Colors
Kate’s looking through a box of old photographs, found behind some hats on the top shelf of the hall closet. Looking through the folded and faded images gets her thinking: Didn’t there used to be a place where traveling at the speed of sound wasn’t important? Where all that mattered were that the colors were true, love was easy to give and receive, and once in a while someone showed up with a decent bottle of wine?
Kate closes the box and holds it close to her chest. Aloud, she asks, “Do you remember the way? How to get back to that place, I mean? Do you think you’d want to go there with me?”
