Dear Wigleaf,

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               12-01-08                                [home]