“I understood that my grief, which I still carried like comfort, was not for my grandfather. The red branch on the green trues not only the first limb of the Republic to feel the cold of the winter; it was the death of my childhood, and the knowledge of my own vulnerability.” – String too Short to be Saved by Donald Hall
I love reading them, so now I’ve joined the #SundaySentence party started by David Abrams over at the Quivering Pen and on Twitter. It’s not a review. It’s not a story. It’s just one sentence I read this week, presented “out of context and without comment” that hit me where I live. Do with it what you will.
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