Friday, September 3, 2010
The earliest memory I have, when I first recall thinking that perhaps these bedtime tales were more than just stories, was when I was six. Our house was on the outskirts of the town, tucked away at the base of the tallest peak. My father and older brother were mending the pasture, while my sister and mother kept the house. I was supposed to be gathering water, but was more preoccupied with the whisker-fish in our steam. I had never been as good as my brother at catching them with my bare hands, but today was the day. Little did I know how much a few hours would change my life..