Rooted, I used to think.

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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
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Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

Tuesday, Mar. 04, 2003 @ 12:25 am
Night Watch

There are coyotes over on the fields, and I hear them gallop though the clear-sky night. I hear the neverending wails and the punctuated yaps that soar up towards zenith.

Their echoing chorus moves with the wind, draws closer, fades away. I'm running out to the paddock clad in a white slip and rubber boots, fearing for the ewes out by the gates, fearing that someone strayed from the flock. I'm pushing tangled hair out of my face, searching through the night, and I stumble reach down for rocks.

I reach the gate and stand my ground. Everything is silent but for my breath and my heart, and now the ewes whom I awoke. A wind shivers the cedars and the blackberry brambles. I shiver too. The coyote yaps fade, fade away across the distance. I open my hands and the stones fall to the ground.

Roots | Shoots