The Call Out (real-life poetry in short prose form)

This happened on our way home

It was quite dark when we were getting home yesterday: some last traces of purple could be seen in the sky, but if you didn’t look up it was mostly already evening. On the way from my daughter’s kindergarten (which Americans call ‘school‘, but I can’t; it is so premature, and cold-sounding to me) we made a half-hour stop for ice cream, and then resumed …