Pearly Everlasting By Tammy Armstrong

The memories drift through the haze of early childhood, each one a fragment of the cold, isolated winter in a lean-to cabin. The sound of sleet pattering against the cabin's two small panes of glass brings a vivid picture, sometimes driven by winds from the east, sometimes from the west. Inside, the wood fire crackles relentlessly, its warmth a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, filling the room with the scent of pine-cone dust and the earthy aroma of punky kindling—wood scooped from the decayed hearts of old stumps.

The red cedars outside creak under the weight of storms, their branches pressed close in a protective embrace, while rain spatters rhythmically on the splint-shingle roof, green and pliable, with bark-side turned down to ward off the water. The distant howls of coyotes chase deer through the snow, their cries blending with the hoots of wide-throated owls, their echoes mixing with the wind’s mournful song.

Amidst these sensory impressions, there’s a sense of warmth and safety found in a moose-skin throw, beneath which I slept as a baby, wrapped snugly in a wicker basket. My brother, Bruno, shared this intimate space, his pale snout nestled under my chin, his long-clawed paw resting gently against my ribs. The world beyond the cabin was a harsh, unyielding wilderness, but inside, there was a cocoon of warmth and the comforting presence of family—his gentle closeness a soothing constant in a landscape defined by its wildness. 📚❤️