are we square the old girl wanted to know, looking me hard in the eye, pinning me down to the shaky ground, so I could hardly say hardly, so I could only nod and lie -- of course, yes, you know it -- gripping stillness, trying not to wriggle, to blink, to breathe -- it would have to be me to let loose, to break away, toss the pebble in the bush and scatter the birds -- there was no helping it -- every itch denied every quake refused every patter of rain turned to mud turned to worm turned to bloom
Postcard from Eureka Springs.