Hair: A Memory

Every spring and summer afternoon when school got out, we three girls slid down the chalky banks that sandwiched the shallow river. Though the warm weather supposedly kept it mostly solid, the river banks had softened from the rise and fall of the running water, and so our school shoes were caked in grass and mud by the time we reached the bottom.

Rachel jumped into the river first, her red school dress tucked into her knickers to keep it dry. She had bragged a long branch from the apple tree in her garden with her, and claimed the river as her own. She drove the stick into the riverbed, a red ribbon was tied to the end and blowing softly with the wind in a makeshift flag.

Despite the warm, cloudy weather, tourist season was already in full swing, and from our spot among the damp grass, we could watch the smoke rise from the B&B and the city bikers pass through the twisting roads.