Greetings from the hinterlands. Life continues among the white pines
and strangers. But so much open space, I must admit, leaves me feeling
oddly cold and exposed, like a raw potato in a drained-out fountain. I
often think of pushing myself up against the window, the wall, the
banister, just so I can relive the hot sensation of crowds.
Wherever you are, what are you breathing?
The other night, I dreamed of triplets. Each one professed to be
another. So I wandered among them, trying to discern a lie from a lie.
A thread from a thread. My cheeks burned. My heart bleated like a lamb.
But the fact is, truth never felt so near at hand.
More time, Wigleaf, more time. It's all I ask for.
- - -
Photo detail on main page courtesy
of Bob Travis.
Read DK's story, "Audio Recording #3."
w i g · l e a F