Sunday Six

Six slightly-belated sentences for Sunday, March 2:

The public library in town was one of our only concessions to civilization. I can’t imagine what the librarians thought when we wandered in to return our books, our hair snarled, our clothes rimed with dirt. We must have looked almost feral.

I don’t remember what our parents had to say about our defection into the woods. I remember dad catching me up on my way out the door and kissing the top of my head and calling me ‘beast.’ That was his nickname for me in those days, his wild girl.

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