A spring, not so long ago, I discovered two Canada geese in the field by the Blue Pool. A spring when my father was still alive. The pool is a luminous ribbon of water that arches away from the river and cuts across a fallow field. I visit this part of the river often. Follow the…
Category: growing up
Over the Hills
She resolved not to cry. Not then. Not ever. No matter what he did. He could be mean as he wanted, smash everything into a million little pieces. “Mustangs are not orange,” her sister said, and wagged her finger at her. They were painting the horse models they’d gotten for Christmas. Her brothers had gotten…
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