Relic #1: She Begins With the Breath

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am."  ~Sylvia Plath~


On the edge of spring she sits, waiting for the light to sink into her winter-weathered bones.  One deep breath.  Two.  A heart that brags itself into existence.  A fence stands sentinel along the yard, demanding that she choose a side.  In or out.  Pickets biting into the frigid air like teeth set in a grassy jaw.  Choose.

Or not.  She can let the waiting choose for her.  Hat blown from careless lap, hair escaping from its neatly-pinned chignon.  The breeze swells with the musk of clover and damp earth.  She begins with the breath.  With the fledgling spring, where everything is possible.

I begin here, with her.