I was as incapable of turning away as were the trees

‘ “Katya!” A woman’s voice echoed from the house on the hill, muffled only slightly by the new spring leaves and soft mosses that were only just starting to remember sunlight. “Katya Vasilievna!”

‘The girl – Katya – shrank in on herself, as though by making herself smaller, she would be less conspicuous. As though that were possible. Draped in shadows, she was sunlight. She smelled golden, like honey, like fine white bread. Even the trees noticed; they reached in her direction, turned their nascent leaves towards her.

‘There was no point in speaking to her, I knew. But I was as incapable of turning away as were the trees. I snapped off a slender branch, heavy with catkins, and brushed it against her shoulder.’

— Christine Hanolsy, ‘Katya Vasilievna and the Second Drowning of Baba Rechka’