Dear Wigleaf,

Greetings from the Great Wall of London, whither I have come in search of those silent masters who have lent me their eyes and their hands and their nimble spirits. A little white monkey was here to receive me, it seems he had been warned by the Peach Blossom Fairy of my imminent arrival. Imagine the honour… Tonight the two of us will drink plum wine by bright moonlight and toast every one of the sacred mountains by name. If that doesn’t bring the poets flocking, I don’t know what will. There is snow on every one of the high-topped towers, and deep as feathers in every farmyard. Spring will be coming soon, on dragonfly wings.

Your servant,

Grace






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Read GA's "Mary's Tale."

w i g · l e a F               02-09-12                                [home]