Denise Mallett

The Meadow Maiden of Vincent Tremblay's Sketchbook

He was born on the alpine farm, and always wished to stay on the alpine farm. His mother said his first cry had echoed down into the valley, claiming the mountain as his own. And with his first breath, its air had entered his soul. He knew that, no matter where the wind took him, he would draw his last breath here. It was the fog at daybreak, when the sheep were tearing up dewy grass and the wolves were quiet. It was the blue moss in the shadows and the stars spread like milk across the sky. He was as much a part of this world as the trees.