. . . always come back to you

. . . Along the road down by the horse pond and the pastures the locust trees were all in bloom.  Their scent spilling – actually, yes, spilling down through the air.  In the dark, trespassing right in front of the sign, I broke off sprays and sprays of blossom, tucked them into my collar, wreathed them around my hair.  Then kept walking, now in an aura of moony fragrance, a full-body halo of perfume. . . .

[story: “a fiction: Straight Answers“]


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