Dear Wigleaf,

In October, a tree came into my house. Not the whole tree, though—just a limb, a tentative gesture, an awkward guest unsure if he was welcome. Other trees in my hometown weren't so polite. They crashed through roofs and shattered windows and covered the roads so it was impossible to tell where the forests ended and civilization began. I want to say Hurricane Michael was an unwanted intruder but maybe I've got it backwards: Georgia was underwater once, after all. When I was five, I found a seashell in the backyard, one hundred miles from the shore. I pressed it to my ear and listened to the crash of ancient waves, wondering if and when they'd ever return. In the event that they do, come on over. I've got room in the lifeboat.

Best,

Aleyna




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Read AR's story.

W i g l e a f                11-27-18                                [home]