After a year in San Francisco, my legs grew strong again. A hill and a half lay between the bookstore where I found work and the apartment I shared with the Kotos. Every morning and evening I walked, breathing mist and rain into my desert-scarred lungs, and every morning the walk was a little easier. Even at the beginning, when my feet ached all day from the unaccustomed strain, it was a hill and a half that I hadn’t been permitted for seventeen years.
Tag: Author: Ruthanna Emrys
The children washed up early this year; we raced down to the beach as soon as we heard. There was already a traffic jam coming out of the inland cells.
My pockets are always filled with notes, so I left them well-anchored on the beach. Cells may not survive without new children, but without our studies, survival is meaningless…