This, to me, is story.  Grey roots bulging on the cranky steep of the slope. Sun and leaves at a stretch.  There’s a way of meandering, digging deep, before you get to any epiphany. 

As a reader and a writer, I think it feels this way. So much more of the experience is earthly.  Walking over the rust of wet leaves, winding past a snap of twig. 

Sky is brief.  But it’s what we remember.     


4 thoughts on “Roots

  1. Melissa, we are like two peas in a pod. Every time I see an old tree, I wonder about it's story. In fact, I have a desire to photograph some of these fascinating trees, dig around until I find their history, then document it in a coffee table book. One day I'm going to do just that. 🙂


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