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Peace

Peace Nathan Holaday Appalachian Heritage, Volume 16, Number 1, Winter 1988, p. 40 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1988.0000 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/437164/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 21:13 GMT from JHU Libraries recesses, not feeling quite as cold as I had storms, sittingon the frontporch, counting a minute ago. I reached the meadow and between flashes of lightning and rumbles hiked briskly toward the far end, where a of thunder. And the presents he used to tittle knoll separated the grass from the bring us. Sacks ofunshelledpeanuts from forest. WhenIreachedmygoal, Ithumped Georgia, orange crepe-paper cats that had down, short of breath and sweating accordion legs and danced on strings, fire- crackers, and once a real copper money slightly down the middle ofmy back. The walk had been devoted to shaking off the bank shaped like a Tennessee walking horse. I remembered being little and won- vestigesoffamily and sadness. NowI was still, staring sightlessly across the valley dering if Papa had furry feet inside his shoes because he always walked so quiet- toward gray, wintry mountains. Slowly, like silent movies, images and memories ly to be so big and tall. I http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

Nathan Holaday Appalachian Heritage, Volume 16, Number 1, Winter 1988, p. 40 (Article) Published by The University of North Carolina Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/aph.1988.0000 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/437164/summary Access provided at 19 Feb 2020 21:13 GMT from JHU Libraries recesses, not feeling quite as cold as I had storms, sittingon the frontporch, counting a minute ago. I reached the meadow and between flashes of lightning and rumbles hiked briskly toward the far end, where a of thunder. And the presents he used to tittle knoll separated the grass from the bring us. Sacks ofunshelledpeanuts from forest. WhenIreachedmygoal, Ithumped Georgia, orange crepe-paper cats that had down, short of breath and sweating accordion legs and danced on strings, fire- crackers, and once a real copper money slightly down the middle ofmy back. The walk had been devoted to shaking off the bank shaped like a Tennessee walking horse. I remembered being little and won- vestigesoffamily and sadness. NowI was still, staring sightlessly across the valley dering if Papa had furry feet inside his shoes because he always walked so quiet- toward gray, wintry mountains. Slowly, like silent movies, images and memories ly to be so big and tall. I

Journal

Appalachian ReviewUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2014

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