I may or may not have hit the wall last night. I may or may not have taken a long hot bath to relax thinking I would write this post with flushed relaxation and a towel on my head. I may or may not have then gotten sidetracked by a television show. That may or may not have been followed by my falling into an exhausted sleep. Catching up after a move and then weeks of illness is exhausting apparently. Then again, story of my life.
I can't get over this line from my pick of the week, "the pores of the house opened". It is haunting, beautiful, startling, and organic.
Tangine didn’t know, which was a lie. When summer finally knelt before fall and Uncle Henry, who often acknowledged that he’d overstayed his welcome, crept out of the house for his 6 a.m. flight back home, the pores of the house opened; the sun gushed in warm and full, powering through solid, gray clouds.
Tangine went to Oscar’s room, sat gently on his bed, unsure of touching him. And then she held his hand. He began to cry. “Mother loves Henry more,” Oscar whispered. “Yes,” Tangine said, feeling for her brother like a shepherd who’d fallen asleep in the night.
This week's prompt is from The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker. It was a Pulitzer Prize winner in general nonfiction in 1974, the year I was 4 and burying misfortunate birds and squirrels who had had been crushed by windshields and car tires under my Mother's willow tree.