Writing EDD 2/4/2016 — Arch

A tree fell during the last storm, she said.

Where.

Down by the meadow. Want to see it?

Yeah, my mom said I have to take my dog for a walk anyway.

They crossed the street and went through the gate that separated the neatly planned streets and stucco houses in fifteen shades of brown from the dirt, and the bushes and the trails that were first made by coyotes and then widened by feet. They took the narrow trail without consulting each other. It was the route they always took to the meadow, walking single file with the dog in the lead, slightly pulling Brandon, but not a pull to get free and run, just a pull to get him to hurry up because the dog sew when they reached the meadow, Brandon would up clip the leash and she could play in the small stream. Hazel brought up the back and she was looking around for something, something that she may have missed on the hundreds of walks along these trails with her mom, her sister, Brandon, and by herself.

She passed an arch made of rocks. She always thought these were strange because she had never seen anyone build them. Sometimes she would pass them and the rocks had been knocked down. She had tried to rebuild the arch, carefully placing rocks on top of each other, balancing them into two pillars, the. Slowly trying to lean those pillars towards each other, trying to keep the tension of the arch until the tops met, but they always crashed down, red rocks landing in puffs of brown and red trail dirt. Someone always rebuilt the arches by the next time she was out on the trails.