and i don’t know why beyond fear. and conditioning. but every once in a while my stories show up inside my fiction and it’s always a surprise. it happens when i’m in flow. yesterday i wrote about changing my mom’s dressings for the first time, hands shaking. oh, i placed the scene inside a story and the main character is a middle-aged man named Phil but it’s really me.
small birds with red breasts peeled the pine cones in my yard, searching for seeds. shameless little birds that didn’t move when i walked onto the lawn and stood in their midst.
how do you deal with your peeled heart?