Excerpt From Where The Crawdads Sing
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Part one. The Marsh, Chapter One ma, 1952. The morning burned so august hot. The marshes, moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog. The palmetto patches stood unusually quiet except for the low, slow flap of the heron's wings lifting from the lagoon and then kaya, only six at the time I heard the screen door slapped, standing on the stool. She stops grubbing grits from the pot and lowered it into the basin of worn out suds. No sounds now but her own breathing. Who had left the shack? Not ma, She never let the door slam, but when kaya ran to the porch, she saw her mother in a long brown skirt, kick pleats, nipping at her ankles as she walked down the sandy lane in high heels. The stubby nose shoes were fake alligator skin. Her only going out there okay. I wanted to holler out but knew not to rouse paul. So she opened the door and stood on the brick and board steps from there, she saw the blue train case ma carried usually with the confidence of a pup. Kaya knew her mother would return with meat wrapped in greasy brown paper or with a chicken had dangling down, but she never wore the gator heels. Never took a case