BUY HERE. Read Excerpt below..
The fishermen didn’t even notice me. They likely thought me
someone’s way too young wife. The rush
of air on my face on the bridge was irresistible and I had to look down at the
white caps where two forces clashed slightly, daily forever and ever. Tide to
tide. If I fell in, I wouldn’t be swept
or sucked away to anywhere. I longed for that anywhere.
The wind under their gulls’ wings ruffled with something I
wish I felt in my heart. Flight is a
power. To drop and stay from stream to
stream as things change, fall and stop. To fly knowing this, an act of defiant
love.
“Catch anything?” I couldn’t resist the time honored
question. He was rough, maybe in his 40s
but looked dependable. Flannel shirt
undone so it hit my stomach as I walked by.
“Lordie, no. This day
the dagburned things aren’t biting.
Well, I should say, they aren’t biting my hook. Hoover over there, he already got himself a
mess of fish.”
His empty bucket slid a bit in the wind and he put his foot
in it. “I’m about to give up.”
“Any chance, “ I say dreading the risk, “you’re headed
North?”
He appraised me on several levels. As a woman. As a girl. As
trouble. As a pregnant woman. A young girl. And trouble again.
“I wouldn’t be…” the wind picks up, “..trouble.”
He takes in the sky. The promise of rain. The fact no one is
looking at us. The fact no fish are biting. That this is a day of troubles but
perhaps acts of grace. And my hair is flying around my angelic, sunburned
face. Getting caught against the rough
skin of my lips. I know that I looked
like I was going to cry.
“Are you in a hurry?” he asked.
.......
