I remember my childlike amusement with this neon green pinwheel that my mom bought for me one summer. Opening up my window, I would watch it spin through endless flickering revolutions. I called it my wind meter, a tool I used to watch the breeze. My brilliant, six-year-old-self thought I had discovered how to see…
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Pinwheels
What if?
Eight women sit around a table. Three laugh about something that happened earlier in the day. Two are stirring cups of chocolate milk, chatting like old friends. Another appears lost in thought, quietly looking down at her lap. I rifle through my binder while the woman to my right takes a sip from her water…
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