Windows

I tossed the courting clothing on the bed and looked out the window at the garden. It was in the front yard along the avenue. The tips of Bleeding Heart leaves formed curlicues, from which dew hung like shining beads.

Do I get dressed and go to the parlor? Or do I do the modern thing and go out my window to make a free life in the congested city?

I heard my mother call my name as I ran past the Bleeding Hearts, scattering their glittering jewels.

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