vanfært

Fingertips dig in and rattle over trapezius like a crappy mountain road. Potholes and frost heaves all across my back. The county really should do something about that.

Or else number the route with an F designation. This is all-wheel drive territory.

And then there another pair of fingertips and I groan. Bad road or no, I need to get where I'm going.

rabbit rabbit rabbit

In reverse order: 

I saw you kick high, flying over the brush on the corner and out of sight of the wondering dogs. Go!

I saw you hop lazily into the shade on campus, plopped into the grass from a temporary prison in a recycling bin. Go! And stay out of the street!

I saw you, the remains of you, broken in the road, and I knew you from the bottom of the garden, watching me side-eyed through the chives.