Mamma’s inside, making dinner and an apple crisp for dessert. Sissy and I love apple crisp days because it means that we can breathe. Papa’s out here rolling with the hay. His hands, his strong callused hands, bending with the shovel and cranking each gear one notch up, one down. Sissy and I are frolicking in the grass at the corner of our field, climbing the hay barrels and pretending we can fly. We leap into the air and I swear I see sissy float across the field before landing back down in the mess of broken hay and dirt. The sun in shining and we’re like the wind in our pale calico dresses and bare feet. Today is an apple crisp day.