Friday, August 18, 2017


Sometimes, when I am here or there, but not home, I see the beginning of a story. Then, I jot down a few words on a scrap of paper, hoping they will help me remember. These little pieces of story waft off into forgotten pockets and dark corners of my purse, eventually surfacing on some high tide, clean sweep, purse emptying moment.
Found one today. There were a couple lines.
One read: Man smelling backpack.
I remember that now. A man lifting his backpack up to his face and inhaling. Not as in, "This is the most amazing fabric softener I've ever used. My pack smells like a field of daisies." Something much more quizzical and tentative. His face registered dismay.
Another read: Eagle trying to pick up dead rabbit.
I remember that now too. It seemed such a juxtaposition of majesty to the morbid. 

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