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“It always matters who the storyteller is. It’s a lens.”
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“And behind them a little bull of a man came walking. He wore a mine cap with a carbide lamp atop. Thick his chest was, and a fleece of black hairs came curling out of his shirt.
He took off his cap and his head was as clean as a shaven jaw.
I thought how I would tell Uncle Jolly and Grandma about him. I spoke the words aloud to know their sound.
“A fella not five feet high came along, and I skeered him proper. A low standing fella.
Oh, he was a little keg of a man, round and thick, and double jinted.
A mountycat he thought I was, fixing to spring.”
― River of Earth
He took off his cap and his head was as clean as a shaven jaw.
I thought how I would tell Uncle Jolly and Grandma about him. I spoke the words aloud to know their sound.
“A fella not five feet high came along, and I skeered him proper. A low standing fella.
Oh, he was a little keg of a man, round and thick, and double jinted.
A mountycat he thought I was, fixing to spring.”
― River of Earth
