winduhs

I'm pretty sure my gramma Marguerite says "winduh." As in, look out the winduh. There's something so comforting about listening to her talk. A plain-spoken woman of the Plains. She's nearly my last close tie to my Mom, and she's been my confidant since I was little.
"Uh-leeze, let me tell you something" precedes a nugget of advice.
If she's tasted something delicious, she'll let out a "whoo-eeee was that ever good."
She insisted on calling the daffodils at my mom's house jonquils.
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I took pictures along Fremont Avenue tonight of some windows. Some winduhs. A cold fall dusk-into-twilight yielded shots that caught my eye.