A Room Of My Own
Yes Virginia, I believe.
When I was in second grade, we lived on a property near the Appalachian Trail. Every so often I’d see lone hikers with their dogs emerging from the morning mist. One graying hippie fascinated me. He grew bean sprouts in Campbell soup cans that he’d looped to a belt around his waist. His body was a walking garden of Eden with wild bird’s nest hair.