I love Marie Marshall’s writing. While I may not always understand what’s going on, the ride is always worth it.
ucks her fingers when they freeze, wet with snowballs, wee woolen gloves tightening and loosening. The catch of a summer dress, long onto the tops of wellies that bite the back of her legs, that kick up the smell of wet grass and mud underfoot. This is the sin of experiencing other, still your basic ignorance, still warring with knowledge – those fingers ache, then numb, then warm, no matter that the duffle coat’s worn as a cape, a play costume, doesn’t she know that to pretend other puts her in danger for ever? And yet she strides across that field, that trapped green by houses, to the red/yellow flaked swing set and the slide, wipes wet from the seat and the chute with her sleeve, sets her tongue to a chain and tangs iron, sits in the baby-swing, skirt/dress tucked once, twice, the same way she attempts handstands against…
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O at the Edges 
Followed.
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Glad to hear it, Lee.
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She is always pulling something nifty out her hat. I find these pieces visually focused, a little less ambiguous, more pointed. Though who knows how the series might develop, when Marie’s mind shifts a gear the turns are immense. As she says, the act of reading must become creative in tandem with the content she gives. It works.
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Yes, she’s full of surprises, and quite versatile.
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Absolutely.
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Thanks for sharing this, Robert. I’ll check out her blog!
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Happy to share, Betty.
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Thank you for the reblog. I’m flattered and honoured.
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It was my pleasure, Marie. Thank you.
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