Hilde is lost in dreams one night when she wanders into her childhood:
It is a pristine and unsullied summer morning, each blade of grass spiked with a pearl of dew. The rising sun pinks up the wispy bank of clouds along the tree line at the back of the meadow.
Hilde is not watching herself in the dream—she is herself. Time kindly unlatches the gate, and little-girl Hilde slips through. Hilde grasps the handle of the egg basket; cold dew seeps through her thin canvas shoes. She is wearing loose cotton shorts and a white summer camisole sewn by her mother. The lace strap is longer on the left side; it persists in drifting off Hilde’s shoulder, and she keeps pulling it back up. Her bare shoulder is smooth and glossy, like a warm, brown egg.
The hens are out already, scratching in the dirt around the henhouse, still too sleepy to squawk. They cluck softly to themselves, their beaks pecking against the ground. Hilde goes into the henhouse and takes the still-warm eggs from the nesting boxes, laying them carefully in the basket. …show more content…
She smiles to think of herself, lying there, drowsy and listening to her babies breathe, until her father came up the back stairs and peeked in on them before he turned out the light in the hall.
“Papa?” she whispers from the bed.
It is dark, densely quiet. Outside Hilde’s diminished circle of body heat, the sheets are unbearably cold.
“George?” she tries again.
The time lines are blurred. Hilde could almost forget where she is—or remember where she is not. Grief has muddled her—or is it regret? Is this what it’s like then, when age and despair soften the mind? Hilde draws her knees up to her chest. What had she meant to say to them, to any of them? I didn’t. I should have. I wish.
What is it she’s misplaced, exactly? Hilde closes her eyes, savouring the random and temporary gift of
It is a pristine and unsullied summer morning, each blade of grass spiked with a pearl of dew. The rising sun pinks up the wispy bank of clouds along the tree line at the back of the meadow.
Hilde is not watching herself in the dream—she is herself. Time kindly unlatches the gate, and little-girl Hilde slips through. Hilde grasps the handle of the egg basket; cold dew seeps through her thin canvas shoes. She is wearing loose cotton shorts and a white summer camisole sewn by her mother. The lace strap is longer on the left side; it persists in drifting off Hilde’s shoulder, and she keeps pulling it back up. Her bare shoulder is smooth and glossy, like a warm, brown egg.
The hens are out already, scratching in the dirt around the henhouse, still too sleepy to squawk. They cluck softly to themselves, their beaks pecking against the ground. Hilde goes into the henhouse and takes the still-warm eggs from the nesting boxes, laying them carefully in the basket. …show more content…
She smiles to think of herself, lying there, drowsy and listening to her babies breathe, until her father came up the back stairs and peeked in on them before he turned out the light in the hall.
“Papa?” she whispers from the bed.
It is dark, densely quiet. Outside Hilde’s diminished circle of body heat, the sheets are unbearably cold.
“George?” she tries again.
The time lines are blurred. Hilde could almost forget where she is—or remember where she is not. Grief has muddled her—or is it regret? Is this what it’s like then, when age and despair soften the mind? Hilde draws her knees up to her chest. What had she meant to say to them, to any of them? I didn’t. I should have. I wish.
What is it she’s misplaced, exactly? Hilde closes her eyes, savouring the random and temporary gift of