Thank you StephBee and Ẃeβ࿚Ẃỉtcĥ for giving me a lovely reason to blog.
Mira felt tired, her legs hurt, but she did not stop. She sat under her favorite mango tree, fresh leaves fell all around her.
Her five year old son played nearby. He laughed, blowing on a dandelion. The white bits looked like tiny fairies.
Mira made him a toy from paper, a little cart. His happy grin made her happy. At night, she held him close. He felt as soft as a feather in her arms.
Their home was not a mansion, however, it was filled with love. Her son’s laughter, the tree, or the cinnamon tea she had when she had a cold, were the real beauties of life.
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