Photo by Sasha Freemind on Unsplash
by Sarah Freligh
The sun comes up, a glass that shatters when it breaks the horizon. You walk around farmers’ fields for hours searching for the pieces, many of them too tiny to see. Later, you empty your sack onto a barn floor and jigsaw the shards into a new sun, cracked and lopsided, before pasting it back into the sky. You’re too tired to eat dinner, so you hunker down on a high hill, cocktail in hand, and watch the sun as it heads toward the horizon. Your fingers are bleeding, you’re cold. You watch and wait, praying the glue will hold.
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Sarah Freligh is the author of six books. She lives and writes in Rochester, New York.
