Friday, June 22, 2012

I remember running outside, too expectant for shoes, grass blades cutting at soft little feet.  But, I didn't notice.  Together, we pulled dry, ripened seed pods from silver birches in the backyard.  There were three of those magnificent, ladylike scapes- each, in one of three corners, bending in imaginary wind.  And crumbling the seed pods into our palms, we held them open to meet breeze, and watched their flight in small clouds of tiny brown specks fluttering away.

And later, laying on my stomach in the living room, scowling and rubbing little feet on the carpet to curb the itch.