When I was a girl, I knew lots of places to hide, to get away from the things I feared.  Under my bed, where the lack of light, the muffled sound, the thin layer of dust and the cool hardwood floor made me feel like I was in a cave.  Or in the back yard under the maple tree behind my dadís shop, where I could lie on my back in the grass and look up at how the light filtered through the branches, or close my eyes and listen to the groan of the bark as the trunk swayed against the sky.  Or in a shallow hole in the middle of the field at the end of our street, where I could lie on my back in the grass, looking up at the patterns of the sky, where no one could find me.


© Salahub 2003