Shared with me several years ago by one of my greatest influences, Ms. Helen Brown, this remains one of my favourite small pieces of writing. It somehow resonates with reality, and makes me feel nostalgic, despite the fact that I haven’t experienced anything similar.
“And so he became the man who was Thursday to her. They disappeared into the ravines, the woods north of the city, or her favourite place – against the thick stones of the railway embankment, the willow bending over clothed in ice, loving each other along with the sound of the spring breakup. Kissing each other with stones in their mouths. The freeze still over the March lake, she would lie on her stomach, his hand under her, the shudder of the passing train, the Apalachicola boxcars, reaching through his palm to her breast.”
– Michael Ondaatje, In the Skin of a Lion