remember looking so forward to learning to write in cursive. It was so pretty. So magical and secret. It was like the curves in flowers, in someone’s song or dance. But I missed those weeks from school when they were learning cursive. I was so sad. It was like missing the flocks of canaries when they passed through in the spring, and for moments the trees were filled with delicate, yellow flecks, and the air was filled with a light, sweet singing.
