She breathed in slowly; this was what she had, the beauty of this awful night. She listened for small yips in the distance, something to put in her heart besides the lost phoebes and the dread of another full moon rising with no more small celebrations from her body ever again. She kept herself still and tried to think of coyote children emerging from the forest's womb with their eyes wide open while the finite possibilities of her own children closed their eyes, finally, on this world.
( Barbara Kingsolver )
[ Prodigal Summer ]
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