In the cut field, stalks of bone-whitened crop line the horizon. Each is half a shinbone high, so I walk boot soles outstretched, to flat the stems, avoiding stabs and bruises. Dog charges through, unscathed. I am watching the ground; minding my steps, admiring the pattern of tractor tread. Altitude vantage point instinct halts my walk at higher ground: I can see nothing but still cloud and the rolling plain of stalks.
I am planting raspberries when the cloud lets a cascade loose. As long as I dig, I’m not cold. The spade handle is slippery, Dog eats a raspberry root: that’s the worst of it.
Later, however, a slice of my toe goes missing. Smears of footprint record a hobbling journey to the first aid drawer. Rich dark blood sticks like mud, flows like slow water. 

Self inflicted home chiropody incident- no sympathy required.
But do be surprised by the freshly vacuumed carpet.


Teresa Cypher said…
Oh no! I didn't expect that, Lily! Danged raspberries, danged spade! Get better! And do keep an eye on it for infection...
Lisa Southard said…
Entirely my own fault- only a small cut but it bled impressively. Keeping it aired and anti-septicated today!

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