Our rooster’s familiar crow pulled me from my sleep. I buried my tiny limbs under the thick duvet my grandmother had sewn years ago. The sheep wool she stuffed inside provided my cold, languid body with the gentle warmth of a mid-July sunset. The heavy blanket pressed me down to a bumpy handmade mattress that rests on a bed made of a thousand springs. I closed my eyes to extend the night for just a little longer. I knew it couldn’t be for too long.
Continue reading “Growing in the Valley”
pale blue fragments 