It can see us from above as we try to hide among brambles, hoping it will mistake our human shapes and movements for those of boar or deer or badgers.
Rosalie took one look at the tarot cards this morning and gazed up at me. “Molly,” she said, “I need to get away from you.” Then she bolted down Psychic Alley.
That gesture, that tightening of the hand, such a simple thing, simple but it reassures me.
Retirement day. Those words had resonated over my career, if you could even call it that . . .
The soil smells sweet—rich and earthy with a faint whiff of sulfur from a geyser somewhere in the vicinity.
The walls divide more than inside and out: they run a sharp line between needs and wants.
“Can you use me?” My hands keep shaking.
Saw Dr. Vaughn Romo yesterday. My second consult. We discussed the various options again. The consult was free this time, but not of arrogance . . .