Hello Mr. Wigleaf,
It's me again. I've sent you the view out my window during the day—the corner
of our split wood fence, a huge grass bush, now yellow
like hay, rising in front of it, two evergreens standing imperiously to
either side. Beyond this corner, to the right actually, our canoe
hibernates on its belly. And behind the fence and sleeping canoe rests
our frozen pond.
But now, as I write, it is night, and the window panes are black. All I
see is what darkness always reveals when the light is on
inside—everything here with me—books, computer,
clutter, one side of my face. Of course I didn't send this to you,
reflections never end up on postcards.
Debbie Ann Ice
- - -
Detail of photo on main page courtesy of readerwalker.
Read DAI's story, "Honeybee."
w i g · l e a F