convosfromwithin

As a child, I played with my mother’s hens, the roaster was not to be played with for it had a duty and it was to sing… Plus it would get a little mean and chase us younglings around flickering its wings. I run bare feet in my flowery dresses… My hair always in fine braids and beads, skin oiled and sun-kissed … I danced and swirled until I got dizzy and fell… I was loved… It was green everywhere I looked our goat didn’t wander off to feed. We had a swing and peace lots and lots of peace.