Friday, June 15, 2012

Building

What makes a perfect scarecrow? The tilt of the head, or the way the arms hang? The girth of their frame, or the amount of menace they exude? He could not distinguish, could not chisel down to an irrefutable core. How do you judge what you love? How do you not see the beauty in every variance? A weakness is not a flaw, but something to be protected and loved, nurtured and soothed. He remembered every detail of every scarecrow he'd built. Passing them now was like wading through a sea of love-worn memories; he felt them in his chest, like moths trapped in an upturned jar.

Bean, from The Last Scarecrow

7 comments:

Jay's Shadow said...

Perfect fit.

Jay's Shadow said...

Oh, sorry Bean, that is a great short story. Would love to see more. :)

Marrow said...

Wonderful story and photo. When did she write it?

Rot said...

That's about three years old.

Wikkedmoon said...

Y'all continue to blow me away. Great story.

Pam Morris said...

powerful and moving...Bean knows your very soul. (and very excellent writing, by the way!)

Rot said...

Thanks

This one's about an old farmer building tons of scarecrows. I guess it IS biographical in some ways : )

I'll try to post more of her stuff.