Bug Hollow

by Michelle Huneven

Funny how the days you weep, you can also have the fullest, deepest laughs.

Because all was well. Well enough. The world still ached with beauty. The birds kept chirping, leaves clattered

in a breeze, the late-afternoon sunlight, thick and pale, slanted in from the south. Maybe a shimmer of sadness persisted, but wouldn’t it always, and wouldn’t she want it to?

“When you can laugh, that means it is over.”