Friday, March 18, 2016

Week in Seven Words #282

She pushes a stroller heaped with picture books. There's a child in there too, somewhere.

At some point, he started to sound like a 1950s TV dad. Though in some ways he has matured, his thoughts have also hardened and narrowed.

I leave the room in anger. Outside, a few things calm me: The air, the trees and the soft afternoon light. The self-possession I feel, when I finally realize that the greatest part of my anger comes from things I'm insecure about or afraid of in myself.

The music surrounds us, forms a roof over our head with the clouds and stars beyond it.

I'm told she was a quiet, self-conscious child who sometimes had problems at school. Her own stories of her childhood are different - that she was confident, tough, never afraid.

The cough that latched onto my windpipe for weeks is finally relaxing its grip.

The bottom half of the beech tree is a mess of scars and initials. Farther up, the trunk smooths out, rising past all the parts that are defaced.