The Blade, the Sharpness of It

For Trixie, it was the blade, the sharpness of it, the way that the light caught it, the sound that it made as it whistled through the wind, the wound that it made in the soft, yielding wood. It was the blade, again and again, relentless, separating softness from softness, cutting through the sinews of the wood to reveal the heart of what used to be a tree. That is what drew her, and we didn’t know.

We found out.

Curtis Edmonds, Rain on Your Wedding Day

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