|
|
Other essays on this themeEssay: "Love"
Love is reserved for women, and we don't have any, so we are just out in the cold except for memories. Mine is of my escape. It happened in the spring, which I love best because it's the time of the year of the greening trees, eggs in the nest and dueling chirpers. Life renews, recovering from a desolate winter like a bear blinking and scratching from its den. It reminds me of my escape: the planning past the guards and inmate snitches; the laying of false trails in suspicious minds; passing the point of no return; the flight through the bush to the ranch-house that another man lives in; waiting for dawn in the barn, petting my horses and dogs; Becky coming to gather eggs for breakfast and seeing me with the basket. She cried and cried. We didn't come back for eleven years!
|