The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2018

148 The Meadow survive harsh conditions by climbing trees and latching onto the support of another growing thing. “You made an arrangement for Paul?” I have trouble breathing, finding air to make the words. “Without asking him? Without consulting me?”My legs begin to tremble. “Oh, Tala,” I say. “What have you done?” In the mirrored glass of her small altar, I see the orchid petals, yellowed by the flame of candles she is lighting.

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