Following Her Footsteps

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My red shoes (the replacement ones) are no match for mum’s black canvas tackies with their neatly tied laces. The rhythm of her rubber soles racing down the corridor wakes me. I follow to help but am not quick enough off the starting block and when I do eventually run up alongside she refuses to pass the baton. It’s then I realise this is not a team relay but an individual marathon. Continue reading “Following Her Footsteps”

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