Shady Rest

a memoir

The air outside is close, close like a wool blanket pulled up to your chin, and warm, like being in the wool blanket in front of a wood burning stove as it changes from the normal black to more of a gray shade. There is no breeze to rustle the shards of bright green – the faces turned toward the great light, soaking in every ray and loving it.

The topmost fork of three branches provide just enough room to sit. If I were to stand, my head would part the faces of green but expose me to the fiery furnace and instantly soak my shirt.

It is in this crook, at the top of the maple tree just outside my grandparents’ farmhouse, I sit and escape the summer’s assault.

I enjoy the day in my Shady Rest.

Something I am working on....