My daughter.

Born just five minutes, and I was already jealous. Jealous of the doctor who held her first. Jealous of the nurse who spoke the first words to her (“tão bonita!”). Even jealous that those first words were in a language I didn’t understand. When she was finally placed in my arms I held her possessively. I had carried her for nine months, endured morning sickness and swollen limbs, tur...

The man with the flute played a tune to the stars while the butterflies danced in the breeze.

Glancing out of the window, Matt frowned and moved to take in the scene more fully. Yes. The man was slight, pale, dressed in green pants to his knees, green suspenders, white shirt, and green felt hat. And yes, there was a feather.

All of this would have meant little to Matt – either one of his neighbo...