Well we never caught no fish, but you caught my heart. We'd run through the snake-green grass together and dance with the wind. I loved the way your hair stuck out at all angles, like golden wheat-straw. We'd throw sticks into the creek and paint our faces with mud from around Winding Fork. We'd pull daisies and dandelions out of the ground; tug them out by their roots. Sometimes you'd pull too fast, and nothing came up, like they didn't have no roots at all. They were a bit like you and Cora-Jean in that respect. Following your Ma, desperate. Like ducklings shit scared of being left behind whenever she moved.