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