Curve Ball

In the Crook of a Curved Branch


Soft curves, sharp focus.

Black layers edged in curls of the setting sun’s reflected light on a cloudless night.

The white is an illusion; he will blend seamlessly into night within the hour.

Red-winged blackbirds seem in a frenzy to find one another, cawing madly and swooping among the highest branches.  Other birds, tiny and tea-colored, dive into marsh grass, leaving weaving trails which last only seconds before the reeds and early summer stalks unbend and unbow.  A rare bird of prey circles overhead.

Once again I’m alone in the woods–the same predicament that was the subject of my first favorite picture book, whose words I memorized to give the appearance of being a precocious reader.

Well, not quite alone.  The only traditionally visible human, however.

That childhood book, Betsy’s Adventure in the Woods, ended before the protagonist’s bedtime, when her big brother found her and lead her back home to her family.  My outing will end in a solitary walk under a sliver of moon to an empty home.  Life has hurled some curve balls.

I am not particularly well-constituted for them.



Author: Stephanie

In her spare time, Stephanie works full-time, and then some, as an attorney. She has published articles and delivered talks in arcane fields like forensic evidentiary issues, jury instructions, and expert scientific witness preparation. She attended law school near the the banks of the Charles River and loves that dirty water; she will always think of Boston as her home. You are welcome to take a look at her Facebook author page, or follow @SMartinGlennon on Twitter and @schnitzelpond on Instagram. Bonus points for anyone who understands the Instagram handle. All content on this blog, unless otherwise attributed, is (c) 2012-2023 by Stephanie M. Glennon and should not be reproduced (in any form other than re-blogging in accordance with the wee Wordpress buttons at the bottom of each post) without the express permission of the domain holder.

6 thoughts on “Curve Ball”

  1. Tender, your Jim. I wonder what my Jim might have said if he allowed the “when” not “if”? So much NOT the planner that he couldn’t bring himself to list or mention or muse about a time he would not be around. I suppose that’s a different kind of curve to deal with. Still, life remains “wiggly”, as Alan Watts would say.

    1. I think we’ve finally found a way in which our lives have diverged: I was the one who couldn’t bear to think or speak about the “when,” and my Jim had (and gracefully and without complaint bore) the burdens of plnning ahead.

  2. Deep loss, directional, transformational, a journey of living on with what we thought we could not, Allowing myself to feel that pain, at first unimaginable, took me to places I would not have imagined. With widened feelings and perspectives, my life opened up. These were the words my mother spoke after she died. In the crossword puzzle of the New York Times on Sunday 4/4/10, her name was the clue for number 68 across, Blossom. Answer: Open up.

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