He was much too tired to travel on the road.
There’s nothing left to us, now, but one another.
On the road he could walk with sorrow, as he walked through the rain.
The sun, it’s like we could all get out and live again.
It took her a long time to answer.
There was a silence between them.
When are we going home?
Sun must be down, it’s getting cold.
The place still empty?
There’s a place I used to go to.
Do you want to walk? It’s lovely out today.
I don’t want to read today.
It was nothing to do with her.
What had she to say, anyhow?
You think of anybody special?
I’m not one to judge.
Some step was missing.
We’d moved up a notch in the world.
Gone Fishin’
I was flattered, and startled.
I tried to write that tale down once, and found I could remember only fragments.
I think I’ll stay home and tend my roses.
A place you get lost in.
It did not puzzle me too much.
I set right off. I was curious. You know how it is.
I didn’t know if anyone lived there. I never asked.
The wind had fallen. There was no sound at all.
He was outside, out in the cold, insignificant. He could not do anything.
The guest, a travelling priest, was talking about his travels.
He listened for the women’s voices in the room overhead.
For what else should move a man, these days?
There are no hiding places left.
Only by walking down a path could one achieve one’s absence?
The world is a big place.
She had learned to let the world come round to her.
Time moved on, overcoming many things it met on the way.
I recognize a familiar scene.
It has all happened a hundred times in my mind.
I only feel that all this has happened before — and it has.
Your mind and your heart reject it.
Now, where are we bound?
So it didn’t matter, I thought. It was silly to think about.
I had watched her birth and watched her growth.
I’d be interested in that, but nothing else.
I had learned a craft and had worked hard learning it.
There was nothing extraordinary in this.
But of course I could not close my eyes, nor my mind, nor my memory.
The voice had a few other things to say.
All the characters in my dreams have quiet voices.
Mine are not enigmatic dreams.
« Previous Page — Next Page »