His skull was small, narrow, but he did good work with his hands, digging up the earth, planting trees, teaching people how to conserve. We would forgive him his trespasses. We would remember that he had helped us plant our first garden. That he chopped our wood when we were cold. We would remember that he knew how to find his way out of the woods on a snowy night when all we could hear were the chains on the plows jingling in the distance like wind on bone.
find me
Recent Posts
- Do You Know Who I Am: On Writing and Identity April 17, 2015
- self-promotion, bookselling, blah blah blah April 16, 2015
- “I Wrote This Book Because…” – Myfanwy Collins and The Book of Laney April 1, 2015
- the bluff March 27, 2015
- pub day: today is my butter March 17, 2015
- arrival, gratitude February 27, 2015
- lesson February 16, 2015
- Tradition December 25, 2014
- I Wrote This Book Because… December 12, 2014
- here we are now December 8, 2014
myfanwy collins 