Good Dirt

Henry’s Secret

Henry’s Secret

H enry tries to chase away his agitation with slow, deep breaths. He leans his shoulder against the trunk of an oak and lifts the camera to his face. He’s spotted a fox in a clutch of trees along the river. Amber fur, glowing like gold in a slant of sunlight. He manages to click the shutter a few times before the fox dashes away. He closes his eyes, now, and takes in the smell of the tree’s bark, a whisper of laundry detergent on his shirt, and the river’s particular odor of life mingled with decay. On any other day, all this would be enough to ground Henry, but not today.

Today, he can’t stop thinking about Ebby and how he messed things up. How he should have sat down with Ebby and explained himself.