A mean rumble rose from deep down under my soles. The ground shifted and slid, making long, scary cracks in my basement floor, knocking down my best snowman ever, breaking most of the glass in my house, even almost making my dad cry.
After moving far away, from Alaska to Virginia, Mom wondered why I still slept in bed with my shoes on. I needed to be ready to run. That was a lot of glass.
Years later, another Good Friday approaches. I check for cracks in the basement, and my shoes are always close. My kids aren’t allowed to go barefoot.
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