Long Hollow

    I'm not a country girl.

    I might live in the country, and I'm not afraid of the dark or walking down a country road alone, or tarantulas. I know how to twirl a stick in front of me to clear unseen spider webs from my path, and to check for scorpions and snakes when I lift a rock (away from me.) I also know to dig graves deep and cover them with lots of rocks to discourage any "unburying."

    But I think a real country girl wouldn't cry every time one of the wild things dies, like the beautiful red fox I found dead in the road without a mark on him, or Ruthie the white guinea, or now Sammy the precious baby squirrel. Would a real country girl even name these wild things?         

    Death is just part of life, and these wild things are just part of the cycle. I know that. But I also know that I'll always give a name and personality to any pair of black or brown eyes that stare into mine, no matter how beady they are, and I'll cry when those eyes close forever, their memories tucked in my heart.