March 24, 2009
Remember the winter you were eight years old? There was an evening you stood in the field behind your house, right before your mother called you for dinner. You stood there and unzipped your coat because it was warmer than it had been. You stood there and breathed so deeply you thought your lungs would burst. And when your mother called your name a hundred starlings rose up into the twilight.
Posted by Jaclyn Sollars