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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 09/19/2020 :  17:25:28  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
On the second day he's stippling the ground in patches. Paint smears on his raveled shirt. "Shadow shadows..." he says. "What's happening under the trees." It's Summer. Long days. Warm oranges. La Migra in the eucalyptus groves. Blown-silk skies leaning over the valley. Runnels of gold in the sand.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 09/25/2020 :  16:20:53  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Midnight in the tunnels. Banks of pay phones steamy windows. Hello and goodbye. Jittery Terminal time. Restless trains. Surprise Exits. (Quixote in the stacks. Lorca lingering with the gypsies. The knights acquiescent in daylight. Their all-seeing eyes and heavily armored hearts.) Snow starting to show on the sidewalk. A black and white photograph. The paper crisp and distant. Curling edges.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 09/27/2020 :  17:01:42  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Blue morning glories. Hollyhock. Dusty butterflies. Heavy grass shiny with dew. An island on an island. Father in his cap and Dublin plus fours. Mother with her gingko-shape fan. Seven verdigris leprechauns in the driveway fountain. Pots of gold over their heads. Spell-binding shadows leaping with life. June 1st the tourists arrive. Endless luggage. All unrecognizable now. Lawns with white gravel paths to the sea wall. Revolving black granite bar. The leprechauns gone to auction. "Do you miss it...?" he asks. "Did you ever have one of those View Master things...? Almost real, but the colors brighter... Cast in the role of the day," she laughs, "I'll be the dreamer. You be the dream."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 09/29/2020 :  07:29:27  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
...and a ruby at the top o' the mast.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 10/05/2020 :  17:12:49  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Dreams in the Rhyolite Station. "First winter croup kettle smell," she says. "Alone in my paper boat I lay very still so it won't tip over. I look up and not into the water. The sky is black with star-hole fires. I'm afraid. I may be crying. I see the silver teeth of the ocean. Feel its rocking spell. This dream lasts for several nights. Nothing else happens. The first thing I steal is the money. I'm not planning. I'm just walking away." He leans in... His irresistible mind... His cryptic conversation... "Do you remember the names of your pets or toys...?" he says. Surprised, she says, "Do you?" "Every one..." he says, "...every one."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2173 Posts

Posted - 10/05/2020 :  17:17:34  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The garden. Lush and urgent where they enter the dream. Summer-lit acts of the flowers. Little shrines. Epiphanies at their fingertips. All the minor gods singing. Wise with love and humor. No interrupted lifelines. No bullet holes in the saguaro.
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