Phoenix Maplewood Cowboys and Angels

Something about it felt like a dream. Reno couldn’t remember ever playing in the leaves. He remembered plenty of them turning yellow, falling. He remembered barren branches and heavy snow on the ground. He could remember buds shaping and filling out, flourishing in new sun. Seasons were a constant. Had he ever taken the time to stop and admire them in a playful way? No.

Don’t know the rules, miss. Never was one fer playin round in leaves’n all that.

The disbanding of her home had not appeared to shift her. She was happy and full of light. She seemed to be enjoying every moment. The cowboy couldn’t understand how. Such positivity was foreign to him. He admired it and cursed it, unable to wrap his head around the idea that everything was fine for Amalia.

Yer doin alright, hm? the man grunted softly.