The sighted person always has a roof overhead, in the form of the blue sky or the clouds, or the stars at night. The same is true for the blind person of the sound of the wind in the trees. It creates trees; one is surrounded by trees whereas before there was nothing.
~John, M. Hull, Touching the Rock: An Experience of Blindness
I expose a tender, still-hurting place.
He responds: Maybe that’s the lesson you need to learn before you’re allowed to go on to the next life.
Cold. Careless. Cruel. Calculated?
(an accidental alliteration)
What to do but keep walking.
Sad feet stain the forest road.
A muddy pond sinks me lower. Sympathetic trees attempt a rescue.
Signs wave at me.
TURTLE
XING
NO PARKING
ANY TIME
STOP
EXIT
He punctures the silence with a single word, punctuated by his point: Look. My eyes follow his finger skyward.
A hot pink balloon is, trapped in the paws of a grizzly pine.
