“Contusions.” “Possible concussion.” “Compound fracture.” “Hemorrhaging.” Words filter in. Are they talking to me? About me? I’m broken? My brain is fuddled. That’s a funny word. Where’d it come from? I haven’t heard that since my second grade teacher, Miss Shutt would— “Mrs. Roberts?” Someone shines a bright light in my eyes. “Ann Roberts? We’re
Weary now, these ancient bones. Here by the sea, let me sleep the ancient slumber.
A deep warmth spreads throughout her chest. “Oh, but this hurts too much. It’s too raw.” “Like the newly hatched butterfly. But it will get better. The pain is deep, but the ecstasy…oh, yes…” She-cat bends and gathers the salt from the woman’s tears off the ground and holds the tiny crystals between her palms.
The bones of the trees to the east are dressed now in frilly green organza. They make a good show, especially when the leaves rustle like taffeta.