It was not possible to allow the dress to tear. Never want to let folks pass—no, sir. Old eyes thought you was a pretty little green bush. Putting her right foot out, she mounted the log and shut her eyes.
Lifting her skirt, leveling her cane fiercely before her like a festival figure in some parade, she began to march across. Then she opened her eyes and she was safe on the other side. But she sat down to rest. She spread her skirts on the bank around her and folded her hands over her knees. Up above her was a tree in a pearly cloud of mistletoe. She did not dare to close her eyes, and when a little boy brought her a plate with a slice of marble-cake on it she spoke to him.
But when she went to take it there was just her own hand in the air. So she left that tree, and had to go through a barbed-wire fence. There she had to creep and crawl, spreading her knees and stretching her fingers like a baby trying to climb the steps. But she talked loudly to herself: she could not let her dress be torn now, so late in the day, and she could not pay for having her arm or her leg sawed off if she got caught fast where she was. At last she was safe through the fence and risen up out in the clearing.
Big dead trees, like black men with one arm, were standing in the purple stalks of the withered cotton field. There sat a buzzard. A pleasure I don't see no two-headed snake coming around that tree, where it come once. It took a while to get by him, back in the summer. It whispered and shook, and was taller than her head. Then there was something tall, black, and skinny there, moving before her.
At first she took it for a man. It could have been a man dancing in the field. But she stood still and listened, and it did not make a sound. It was as silent as a ghost.
For I have heard of nary death close by. She shut her eyes, reached out her hand, and touched a sleeve. She found a coat and inside that an emptiness, cold as ice. Her face lighted. I too old. I the oldest people I ever know. Dance, old scarecrow,' she said, 'while I dancing with you. Some husks blew down and whirled in streamers about her skirts. Then she went on, parting her way from side to side with the cane, through the whispering field.
At last she came to the end, to a wagon track where the silver grass blew between the red ruts. The quail were walking around like pullets, seeming all dainty and unseen.
This the easy going. In a ravine she went where a spring was silently flowing through a hollow log. Old Phoenix bent and drank. Notify me. Rating details. Book ratings by Goodreads. Goodreads is the world's largest site for readers with over 50 million reviews.
We're featuring millions of their reader ratings on our book pages to help you find your new favourite book. Close X. Learn about new offers and get more deals by joining our newsletter.
Sign up now. More filters. Sort order. The story of the first person to walk the miles from the most northern tip of Canada to the end of the Florida Key's return trip. He has now done it twice and at 83 now plans to do it again.
James E. Parker rated it it was amazing May 05, Doug McCoy rated it really liked it Nov 25, James Hale rated it liked it Sep 19, Doris marked it as to-read Mar 09, Rob marked it as to-read Aug 20, Kris marked it as to-read Aug 24, Runwiththewind marked it as to-read Apr 15, Barbara marked it as to-read Apr 30, Rick added it May 06, Sharon marked it as to-read Jun 02, Mark-Daphne Pettit marked it as to-read Mar 16, Leisha Colyn marked it as to-read Jul 03, Andrea marked it as to-read Jul 12, Katya Mills marked it as to-read Jul 20, Tony marked it as to-read Aug 29, Rod Cox marked it as to-read Sep 19, Miranda Goelz marked it as to-read Oct 04, Odyssey ONHT.
Odyssey GAL. Odyssey Triple-O. C2C GWL MoPac Rail Trail Share this: Twitter Facebook. Like this: Like Loading Robert Like Like Reply. Larry Like Like Reply. Congratulations on a well-done project! Like Like Reply. Thank you.
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