The snow has returned and the girl feels comforted. She knows now that sometimes it rains in January. The lines that shape the space she inhabits, sent off-kilter, left her precious little to grab on to in her falling down life.
There are only four things prairie dwellers grow up knowing intimately: spring, summer, autumn and winter. It's doctrine runs through their veins and channels through the fields and tundra, the ice shields and the boreal forest. And faith flows both ways.
They say it will melt, again, in three days. They speak of drought already for the seasons that follow the one the girl still waits for so she can make even just one snow angel that will stay the season ...
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4 comments:
I do enjoy form of writing, especially yours.
Thank you, Anthony :)
it's wonderful to find unexpected - though not surprising - angels at night under the near full moon
i imagine it would be ..
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