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Little Pumpkin

Her brown hair twisted in the wind like the stems of the pumpkins she picked out Her little hands curiously traced the ridges and bumps of the orange fruits As she attempted to lift one bigger than her head her laugh never faded like the clouds in the sky had. When she drank the hot cocoa we bought from the market her cheeks turned a ripe apple red. The thick brim of the wool hat sitting snug on her head struggled to cover her eyes but I still saw them peek up at me as she asked me to hold her hand

Little Pumpkin

Her brown hair twisted in the wind like the stems of the pumpkins she picked out
Her little hands curiously traced the ridges and bumps of