Evergreens I stood naked in the shallow water, my feet rooted beneath the stones. Gold ribbons of light chased the sun across the lake towards the Orford Mountains. I was six, and Katie was four. She sat on shore next to the wild mint and quietly contemplated the ribbons too. Tiny stalactites hung from her bright red hair; dried clay clung to her freckled skin. Mom sat on the stone wall behind her and crossed her arms as if to guard her long shadow against the setting sun. She always wore her black bathing suit but never came into the water. The industrial moan of the highway gave way to an impish plea beneath my feet. I squatted down to listen, and burrowed my hands into the lakebed to liberate it, the soft clay between my fingers was familiar, the stuff of mud pies. I painted my body with the muddy stew; from my thighs to my stomach, towards my shoulders and up to my neck. Its deep earthy stench rolled over my chin and into my nostrils. Good enough to eat, I thought. “Don’t!” Mom regained her balance from a stubborn stone.
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3/20/2017 6:07:23 PM