Beginnings: I was born on a Tuesday. On the same day that the first of two cyclones in less than a month killed 35,000 in India. On the same day as the birth of Salvador Dali, whose twisted, surreal visions unsettle me.
First Memory: I watch as my sister and friend run down a hill, laughing, tumbling like kittens, while my feet were held solidly to the ground by metal braces.
Irony: The old rhyme says Tuesday’s child is full of grace. Continue reading “The Nine | Ellen Birkett Morris”