November 17, 2010 § 2 Comments
‘She could scarcely reach the chinaberry tree, where she waited in the growing heat while inside her she knew the cold river was creeping up and up to extinguish that eye which must know by now that she knew.’
She knew. Oh she knew.
And she cannot help speaking thrifty thrifty, third person. Singular. An omnipresence in the eye of a caspian. Those, assumed dead and gone. Spotted from time to time. Striped more often.