I Wanted To Make Myself Like The Ravine

“I WANTED TO MAKE MYSELF LIKE THE RAVINE” BY HANNAH GAMBLE

I wanted to make myself like the ravine so that all good things would flow into me.

Because the ravine is lowly, it receives an abundance.

This sounds wonderful to everyone who suffers from lacking, but consider, too, that a ravine keeps nothing out:

in flows a peach with only one bite taken out of it, but in flows, too, the body of a stiff mouse half cooked by the heat of the stove it was toughening under.

I have an easygoing way about me. I’ve been an inviting host — meaning to, not meaning to. Oops — he’s approaching with his tongue

already out and moving.

Analyze the risks of becoming a ravine.

Compare those with the risks of becoming a well with a well-bolted lid.

Which I’d prefer depends largely on which kinds of animals were inside me when the lid went on and how likely they’d be to enjoy the water, vs. drown, freeze, or starve.

The lesson: close yourself off at exactly the right time.

On the day that you wake up under some yellow curtains with a smile on your face,

lock the door. Live out your days

untroubled like that.