She was out of doors,
only that,
and it came to her
that it was the first time
she'd been out
in days.
The house loomed at her back,
but she never turned her head.
She was watching her feet, concentrating
on keeping her balance
in the roiling sepia
mud that clung to the
toes of her boots and
sucked at her heels.
The rain drummed
at the parasol.
Everything smelled
of fresh-turned earth.
-- T.C. Boyle, San Miguel
(arranged quote)
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