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From: Reneetheduckwoman
Date: 29 May 2004
Time: 08:26:36 -0500
Remote Name: 205.188.116.69
I have been polishing my hands on the beams of your museums, walking their sawdust floors. The French doors, the casements, are flung open and there is a woman in a jail of horizontal light cutting a boy's hair. As I hear the sound of scissors, I feel a storm boiling up out of the east, carrying with it the scent of salt hay, sulphur,sea. The aspens keen down the chimney stirring up frissons of ash. At night the great gray owls emerge to float like monks in the liquid shadows of pines, and the one eyed woman with the lantern, she comes too.