Like a Blind Child

Aliceat Seventeen is one summer afternoon when I learned my body like a blind child leaving a walled school for the first time. Stumbling from cool hallways to a world dense with scent and sound, pines roaring in the sudden wind like a huge chorus of insects.

I felt the damp socket of flowers touched weeds riding the crest of a stony ridge, and the scrubby ground cover on low hills. Haystacks began to burn smoke rose like sheets of translucent mica. The thick air hummed over the stretched wires of wheat as I lay in the overgrown field listening to the shrieks of small rabbits bounding beneath my skin.

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