Seven and Ten   My sister, seven, lay awake in the weeds. The fallow field near our house had reached a height of three feet, a haven for grasshoppers and mice. She wore a yellow cotton dress and once-white sandals; the weeds ensconced her. Running with a flimsy net after a butterfly, I tripped over her legs as I lunged, but she did not stir. … Continue reading ‘Seven and Ten’ by Carrie Etter