Corn Goddesses

Two silhouettes, two girls about to be women, walking obliquely across the awakening loam, eyeing the furrows for arrowheads kicked up by the plow and feeling the April air through the holes in their jeans, which are whiter than the powder on the bark of birches. Their naked feet make watery music in the soil, now blacker than a magpie because of the rain and smelling of angleworms. ``If you breathe on it, something sprouts,'' is what the farmers say about this land along the Mississippi bluffs. Hugged by the morning sun, the girls stop and work their heels deeper and deeper into the earth. They have a chapter of Thucydides to read before first hour, but they prefer to root themselves and blossom.

Share this story:

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK