Mostly, I remember that Nonna couldn’t speak–Italian or English. Her vocal chords were irreversibly damaged as a young child. Yet the spoken word wasn’t necessary for her to be understood and endeared.
She strolled the congested streets of her cluttered memory.
I was eleven when it happened. I do remember that. The last day I rode a tree swing. Trees lined the property up the hill near our house. A thick, braided rope swing was fastened to the highest limb of the highest tree. The swing rope was a popular activity