My house is leaky. I keep forgetting to leave the house, but tonight I left on foot down the empty streets and up the side of Mount Sentinel to overlook the city and the mountains attired in thin caps of snow. I reached out to rub sage between my fingertips, bringing my hands to my nose to breathe it in, forgetting that my hands and face should be strangers, inhaling more deeply than I have in weeks.
The sun sets, an orange yolk dipping behind the mountains across the ancient lakebed and I begin my descent. Howling time. Grinning, I howl back.
I howl and howl and listen as the howls taper off. I want it to be enough, but tears blur the path and wet my cold cheeks as I walk back to the house where we wait and keep waiting.
Emily Withnall lives in Missoula, Montana, with her two teens. Magazine , among other publications. Emily is writing a book about domestic violence and hydraulic fracturing. To read more, visit emilywithnall. Your email address will not be published. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Subscribe me to Beautiful Things! Submit Comment. Hummel While students loitered over their books at the cafe tables, a boy named Adam taught me how to spin the batter on the griddle Read More.
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