Monday, July 17, 2006
Heat stacked like steam in the openness. But not where the hemlocks swept down the ravine. Layer over layer of deep green. The needles drank rivers of sun.
Amanda was wandering, not lost enough to care. She sat on a log dusted with mossy green.
Days like this live and live, she thought. Not in words. And the first cicada of the season buzzed in the treetops.
She lifted her face, closed her eyes, and all the forest heard.
Posted by jason evans at 12:06 AM