"house"

Soft, white, pillowy billows, like plumes on a hat, slowing puffing out of the chimney and along with it, that smell of embers. The dirt road - a stark red clay - in contrast with the vibrantly dark green grass blades poking up and reaching for the sun. A light wind causes the long chains of rising smoke to careen and twist and the trees lining the dust red dirt road shake like a dog coming in from the rain. The sharp ping of metal hitting something hard and stubborn rings through the trees and shakes a couple birds out of their nests high up in the tallest maple closest to the house. She’s standing there, hovering over a little tuft of dirt mounded on the ground, like the loose cowlick of our red-haired cousin, and she’s peeking in to see what her shovel had struck. I tase the iron on the tip of my tongue and realize I’ve chewed a little divot into the side of my cheek. Hands clenched and wrung like wash cloths, a teetering penguin wobble, and the ever-present knot just behind my belly button gives a little…