I was sitting on my bed, and a cold wind blew hard into my window and onto my feet.
I went out and stood on the porch, full dark at an hour that a few months ago would have been just barely golden. I put my palms flat against the wet wooden railing and smelled water everywhere as the rain tapped comfortably in the metal downspout next door and remembered how beautiful the moon was during those oven-hot, smoky summer days. Even the night that I could hardly breathe, when it was the color of blood and I shut the curtains against it because I was scared, because it wasn't fun anymore. We are so tough, and also so fragile, and today I am alive, and there is a blessedly cool wind blowing into my window, full of the smell of water.
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AuthorBitter Water
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Archives
June 2019
Categories© Francie Nevill and Every Sweet Thing, 2017.
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