Seven, up North, is a big family Eight, if you count the dreamed up border collie that sleeps in bed with me and never sheds elicits not even a whisper of a sneeze from my mother The corners of my lips are veterans at curling upwards in bashful, proud apology at somebody's surprise, "Seven! Oh, I couldn't imagine seven." What of seven, though? Why not seventy or twenty-five million or zero? In the mountains, numbers are tricks of the mind, the shapes that remain after leaves have launched their tender bodies to the ground and are stepped on by people who don't pay enough mind Family is everywhere to be found and not nearly often enough discovered but when stumbled upon there is bashful, proud apology in knowing that family is as much the fallen leaf as it is the trees Return to the Kentucky Collection.
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