...red sings like summer in the shadows, hot on my tongue...
Nell GreyStichwörter: poetry line fragment-of-a-poem nell-grey
When I was seventeen I found a man, or maybe he found me. Away from home for the first time, out of reach of my father’s archaic restrictions and my mother’s culinary insistence, I cut off my hair, dropped my Christian name, wore black and toyed with anorexia, passing incognito among the city workers, just another ant in that vast heap.
Nell GreyStichwörter: short-story-collection nell-grey objects-of-desire solstice
I stood transfixed, the silence ringing in my ears. From the field of wild grasses; cocksfoot, tufted hair, wild oat, tall fescue, reed canary and perennial rye, their subtle shades of green, ochre and pink softly patching and blending in rustling movement, suddenly rose a small flock of starlings that had been feeding quietly unseen among the tall waving stems, the swish of their glossy wings startlingly loud in the stillness of midday. Heat held me captive.
Nell GreyStichwörter: short-story-collection nell-grey solstice fear-of-bulls
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