Walking the Hedge

I wash myself in the river.

As I do so I murmur quietly. I have learned the power of words. I give it voice. Using my breath. Vibration.

I wash myself in the river. The cool water runs down my legs and arms and neck. Though the hem of my skirt is tucked up into my waistband it still gets wet. My hair is the color of clotted blood when it is damp and under a night sky, it drips river water down my back. It is not dirt that I remove with the water … but it is swept away by the current nonetheless.

Crash paddles to me, returning from her attempts to follow the offering tossed in the river as they floated away. She gives me a look that says “Why the hell are you throwing sticks  and bits of plants into the river if I’m not to chase them?”

I laugh and beckon her to follow me unto the shore. My sandals make squelching sounds as I work my way up the river bank.

I come to a tunnel of vegetation that runs parallel to the river. One side is the weeded… Continue reading →