Sadness leaks in like the cold. You bundle up, prepared for it. Ready for the onslaught. But it comes in wisps – icy fingers that make you shiver at first. Then you choke as they tighten around your throat.
I stare at the text message, the orange glow of my phone in the dark of a strange hotel room in the middle of the country. I can’t read the letters on the screen, but the message has pierced the sleepy shrouds, the covers over me on the bed, the t-shirt I’m wearing, the skin of my chest and my heart. Continue reading Grief at Thirty Thousand Feet
The screams started as I sat down to write in the three-season room off the back of our new rental house.
It was lower in tone than a cicada, but it had that constant humming quality to it that made it unbearable, like a low-grade headache.
I scanned the yard to see if I could spot where the sound was coming from, but I didn’t notice anything.
It continued for several minutes and then fell silent.
There was noticeable relief when it ended. I felt physically better somehow.
I cracked my knuckles and went to work on a short story that I was struggling to end shortly.
Continue reading Death of a small woodland animal