Eight Years Old

Eight Years Old and Evergreen

by Hayley J. Boyle

Reaching clear into the sky,stretching limbs and fingers out—as if to pull the sky closer—our side-yard cedarbecame like a second home for myscabby knees and calloused hands.
My face freckled among its branches,mirroring the bark, dappled and fleckedwith sun and beetles and specks of dirt.
Climbing into its canopyfilled my small body with joy.An escape into a worldof marching antssparrows flitting from bough to boughsap that would stick to my palmsfor days following hours among needles and coneslingering, reminding me thatinsignificancedoes not existbut miracles do.
They smell like an evergreenand look like an eight-year-old,swinging her legs, carefree,reaching higher, touching the heavens.


Featured in our January 2022 issue, "Generosity"