When I was 13 walking through the woods with a friend. She dodged all the bare branches that stretched from the thin tree trunks and blocked our path. I wanted to move as fast as she did, but the snow-covered terrain hid rocks, sticks, sliding things. Trying to catch up, I kept falling. I couldn't see the branches so I pushed them away angrily. She said don't push them away; they'll push back. Go around them instead. The branches whiplashed into my face, already wet with cold and shame. I didn't listen to her. I batted at them from the edges of my non-vision. I ate my anger as branch after branch stung my cheeks.
The trees outside my back porch this morning.
Hi Jill,
ReplyDeleteI sold you some books at the Main Street Rag table on Saturday and forgot to write down the amount. I'm hoping you can help me remember what books you got and what to charge you for.
I feel terrible about this, so I hope you'll let me know what you got, so we can charge you appropriately.
Thanks!
Beth Browne
Main Street Rag
womenswrites at inbox dot com