Читать книгу The Red Files - Lisa Bird-Wilson - Страница 15

Grasshopper

in the shadows between two school buildings, the residence and the rectory, she lies on the ground on her belly, head on crossed forearms, the threat of June heat menacing the air while tricky grass quivers at her ankles

minutes ago she had the wind knocked out of her; the smile erased off her face

she back-hand wipes her nose and a grasshopper jumps nearby, deftly she cups her hand over it

its head pinched between thumb and forefinger, she draws down the grasshopper’s L-shaped foot: flex and bend, flex and bend

the mechanical knock-knee: convincing and in her guts a stirring faith that all things are made perfect by god

somewhere on the road a car horn sounds, a sign, surely, of something

she hops to her knees then her feet, tosses the grasshopper

onto the flattened grass

squatting she prompts its rump with her finger,

it twitches, draws in a delicate leg

jump, she demands and when it does not

she rises and lifts her foot

to extinguish the evidence

with her bare sole

the car blasts again from the road

she turns and runs to see who has come